


The Flame of Resistance

by Proton6



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Dark Harry Potter, Dark Hermione Granger, F/M, Muggle Technology, Muggle/Wizard Relations, Resistance, Running Away, War, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:47:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 108,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27352201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Proton6/pseuds/Proton6
Summary: Snape dies without giving Harry his memories at the Battle of Hogwarts and Harry never finds out that he himself is a pseudo-Horcrux. Voldemort returns a year after his second defeat and, in the five years after, manages to take over much of both magical and muggle Europe. Harry and Hermione lead an ever-dwindling resistance and eventually are betrayed by an old friend that they believed to be dead. They manage to fight off the attack that ensues, and with Voldemort hunting after them, flee Britain with the last survivors of the Order. They journey across occupied Europe, finding allies in foreign magical and muggle communities who continue to resist Voldemort's reign, maintaining hope that one day, Voldemort's reign of terror would be destroyed once and for all.
Relationships: Daphne Greengrass/Neville Longbottom, Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 23
Kudos: 58





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you who know me from FFN (same name!), this story came about as I realized that I could have done a lot more with the beginning of Hindsight on its own while writing Chapter XXV. I decided to 'recycle' much of the Prologue and a big part of Chapter I to set up for a rather different story, not involving time travel. I admit that I've made some missteps when writing Hindsight, and it did not turn out as well as I had hoped. This story will try to set things up differently, avoiding the following mistakes from Hindsight:
> 
> (Ab)use of tropes!
> 
> Unnecessary character bashing that contributes little if anything to the plot as a whole.
> 
> Inconsistent tone and characterization.
> 
> To quote my Russian professor, 'Хороший товарищ всегда практикует самокритику!' – a good comrade always practises self-criticism! Writing this story, I am trying to keep these mistakes in mind so that they are not repeated.
> 
> Thank you for matteo caputo for the amazing cover art.
> 
> An enormous thank you to maschl for everything he has done to help me with this story. Between betaing for logic and plot continuity, correcting my dismal French, and brainstorming ideas, I don't think I would be half as satisfied with how things have turned out if it had not been for his help. I remember when I first read Too Many Champions in July, a few days after I first started writing my own stories. Back then, I could not even begin to fathom working with him on a project like this. I am truly honoured.
> 
> Obligatory warning: This story is *EXTREMELY* dark. This is a brutal total war where one side does not treat the other as human, and the results are predictable. There will be discussion of totalitarian police-state oppression, war crimes, crimes against humanity, and genocide. There will be on-screen violence and death. If you do not want to read any of that, close the tab now, because this story goes from zero to a hundred in less than two chapters. This will not be a story that you read to smile and warm your heart. If you want that, I suggest one of my fluff stories instead.
> 
> Finally, if you do find yourself enjoying this story, or are interested in the genre but want something that is less dark, violent, and brutal, check out maschl's new story I See No Difference. Coincidentally, we were both working on stories of a somewhat similar nature at the same time – Harry and Hermione running away from Britain. If you like my take on this genre, I am sure you will love his.
> 
> With that enormous A/N out of the way, let's begin. I hope you'll enjoy!

* * *

_Quoi qu'il arrive, la flamme de la résistance française ne doit pas s'éteindre et ne s'éteindra pas._

_Whatever happens, the flame of the French resistance must not be extinguished and will not be extinguished._

– Charles de Gaulle, 18 June 1940

* * *

**1998**

Voldemort's corpse lay in a disused storeroom to the side of the Great Hall. Voldemort's wand lay, snapped, next to him. The sooner that ugly and despicable sight was removed from the hallowed halls of Hogwarts, where the bodies of the brave defenders lay in eternal rest, the better. It was time to move on. Time to build a world anew. Time to bring down the old walls of division, prejudice, and bigotry that had ripped apart the wizarding world.

And spectacular news was coming in from all corners of Britain. The innocent muggle-borns, so-called 'blood traitors', and half-bloods were being released from Azkaban. The Imperiused were coming to their senses and turning themselves in for treatment at St Mungo's. Death Eaters, their allies, and those who had willingly facilitated the regime and its attempted genocide were being rounded up and put on trial.

Kingsley Shacklebolt had been named the Minister of Magic. Minerva McGonagall the Headmistress of Hogwarts.

There was talk of awarding the 'Heroes of Hogwarts' – Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, and Fred Weasley, among many, many others – Orders of Merlin in recognition of their bravery and selflessness. There was talk of promoting unity between families, Houses, and people of different blood statuses so that such bloodshed could never happen again.

A new dawn awaited Britain.

Society, unfortunately, often waited to change until it was forced to change by dramatic events. And now, rising out of the bloodshed, was the promise of a new, more egalitarian, and fairer country.

And Harry Potter sat in the Great Hall, one arm around Ron Weasley, one arm around Hermione Granger, looking into the new dawn. Thinking about their futures that they could have together.

But his scar still prickled.

Severus Snape had died alone that night, taking his memories of Lily with him to the grave.

And the Death Eaters' marks still burned black.

* * *

**1999**

In the dead of night on that year's Summer Solstice, in the centre of a stone monument in Wiltshire, England, a cauldron stood.

Around the cauldron stood two masked, hooded men, chanting and dropping odd items into the brew.

And the cauldron flared and shattered.

A bone-white, snake-like figure rose out of the fire. His eyes were red and slit-like.

The two men wrapped the figure in long robes and handed him a wand. A new wand, tailor-made for the figure in a foreign land. A new wand imbued in Dark Magic.

Lord Voldemort had risen again.

Harry Potter's scar burned as he witnessed the regeneration of his nemesis.

The Order of the Phoenix was recalled the very next day and the Ministry of Magic was alerted. That night, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger apparated to Hogwarts and reclaimed the Elder Wand. They needed to keep it from Voldemort, and would need it anyway when the fighting inevitably recommenced.

The Ministry and the Order hoped that this time, after being alerted to the resurgent danger immediately, they would have time and surprise on their side as they coordinated their response against the Dark Lord. Voldemort may be dangerous on his own, but he was far more dangerous if his most loyal supporters – those now held in Azkaban – were on his side. Actions were taken to prevent the second sacking of the prison in a decade.

But Voldemort had been busy. The Death Eaters who had managed to escape incarceration or death had been recruiting in his absence, preparing for their master's return. By the end of June, Voldemort had an army numbering over ten thousand at his command, consisting of mostly New World mercenaries cast out of their own countries by their own civil turmoil.

Not the Third Order of the Phoenix, nor the hundred-or-so-wand-strong Auror Office, nor the seven hundred fifty troops of the British Magical Army – reformed from the Hit-Wizard Corps – had any numbers comparable to Voldemort's.

Azkaban was sacked in early July. What the hired brutes lacked in fighting skill relative to the Army regulars stationed at the prison, they made up for with sheer numbers. And Voldemort's worst followers were once again by his side.

The Ministry had fallen by mid-August.

Dolores Umbridge became the new Minister of Magic after Kingsley's murder.

Hogwarts followed before September.

As Voldemort achieved commanding victory after commanding victory, his forces swelled. Scores of mercenaries and pure-blood supremacists from every corner of the world – the European mainland, Africa, the Middle East, India, China, Japan, and many other places – flocked to his cause. By the end of the year, their numbers reached nearly twenty-five thousand.

The Order was relegated to hiding in a Fidelius-protected and heavily enchanted stretch of abandoned tunnels of the London Underground. Its erstwhile leaders – Minerva McGonagall and Kingsley Shacklebolt – were dead. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were left heading the tattered group, whose prospects looked bleaker every day. It was only a matter of time before they all fell, but they would go down fighting.

* * *

**2000**

Tragedy struck soon after Easter. On a raid on the collaborationist Ministry, Arthur and Ginny Weasley, Hestia Jones, Padma Patil, and Michael Corner were killed, but not before sending nineteen of Voldemort's hired wands to their deaths.

An almost four-to-one casualty ratio seemed good on paper, but it was a disaster. The Order and what was Dumbledore's army, plus a handful new volunteers who had not been a part of the organization in the Second War, could not replenish their losses. Casualties represented a permanent reduction in their numbers. Nineteen deaths, however, were nothing to Voldemort's forces.

From that point on, Ron withdrew more and more into the shadows. Molly was murdered several months later; Bill went missing weeks after his mother's death; George valiantly attacked a Death Eater stronghold unaided, seeking revenge for his family's fate, but was killed himself after smiting more than twelve enemies.

But by the calculations, even after the losses suffered battling the Army, even after the losses caused by Order raids, Voldemort still had more than twenty-four thousand soldiers under his thumb.

Harry killed for the first time that spring, decapitating Fenrir Greyback with _Sectumsempra_ and then burning five mercenaries alive with a single _Incendio Maxima_.

The pained screams of the dying haunted his dreams for years, but he never regretted killing, for Hermione was in danger then, and he would do anything to protect her.

Ron disappeared from the Order by August of that year, and Harry and Hermione were left to fend for themselves, leading an ever-diminishing number of fighters.

It was at Christmas that year that Harry and Hermione finally confessed that they loved each other.

* * *

**2001**

Hermione found out in early February that her mother and father, who she had brought back in late 1998 after Voldemort's second defeat, had been murdered nearly a year ago at the hands of the Death Eaters.

She cried for nearly two weeks in a row, cursing herself for being so foolish as to bring them back. Only Harry's arms kept her from completely falling apart.

By June, the Order was running short on supplies. All magical items, including potion ingredients, wands, books, and brooms, were now tightly regulated by the Voldemort-controlled Ministry. Generally, only Purebloods with clearance had access to these items, and the prices were sky-high, so that in practice, only those in Voldemort's inner circle could afford them.

Voldemort had declared himself the Regent to the Eternal Emperor of Magical Britain – the official ruler was Eternal Emperor Salazar Slytherin – and the Imperial Army, as Voldemort's brutes were now named, had hunted down and murdered every last one of the Order's underground suppliers.

In April, Seamus Finnigan, Tracey Davis, Dean Thomas, and Cho Chang were killed in a raid on one of the Imperial Army's supply depots. Susan Bones, the fifth member of their squad, barely made it back to headquarters, heavily wounded, with a small load of essential supplies.

She chose to end her own life hours later rather than allow the supplies to be wasted on her.

By Halloween, eleven more were dead.

Besides Harry and Hermione, only Neville, Luna, Anthony Goldstein, Angelina Johnson, Daphne Greengrass, and Fleur Delacour remained.

Harry and Hermione were married on New Year's Eve that year. Neither was willing to wait any longer, for they knew that death could claim them at any moment. Neville was Harry's best man, Luna was Hermione's bridesmaid, and Fleur presided over the ceremony.

There was no ring, no wedding dress. Nothing but a small toast with the last bit of Firewhiskey they had. They had no funds left for food beyond a few months, forget the niceties.

Harry would forever remember how beautiful Hermione was on that day.

* * *

**2002**

Less than three weeks after the wedding, Fleur died.

In a reversal of the muggle armies' landing at Normandy nearly sixty years earlier, Fleur had been leading a large group of fighters from France and the Low Countries into Britain. They landed just north of the Thames Estuary and was immediately met by heavy fire from Voldemort's Imperial Army. They were driven back into the sea and forced to retreat, but not before Fleur, along with almost half the reinforcements, were killed.

Hermione cried for days after that. All Harry could do was hold her as she fell apart.

They were never able to recover Fleur's body.

Word reached the last survivors that camps were being set up for the forced labour and extermination of all muggle-borns, half-bloods, squibs, pure-bloods who did not follow Voldemort's line, along with their families. They would do anything to stop or disrupt the process, but unfortunately, the Order was now too weak to do anything.

Voldemort took over the muggle government, too. For years, Voldemort had been aiding a resurgent British Union of Fascists behind the scenes, surreptitiously but surely weakening the Labour and Conservative Parties and rendering them ineffectual political hurdles in Westminster.

Then, on November 5, the Voldemort-controlled parliament dissolved itself and deposed of the queen in one motion. Violence reigned on the streets for weeks, during which time the Queen was killed by unknown parties. Angelina Johnson and Anthony Goldstein both died trying to protect the Queen.

But the violence was put down with the establishment of a new secret police, martial law, and a massive propaganda campaign extolling Voldemort's supposed virtues. By New Year's, resistance against Voldemort's new rule was all but driven underground and on the verge of destruction.

Voldemort's title was now amended to 'The Regent to the Eternal Emperor of All Britain'.

* * *

**2003**

Early in January, Harry and Hermione decided that it was time for the last surviving five to leave their hiding place. The muggle authorities, with aid from Voldemort's Ministry, would likely soon discover their tunnel refuge.

Harry and Hermione sought shelter in an anonymous muggle home in Northern Ireland, hoping that the Irish Sea would give them some separation from Voldemort's forces.

There, they trained and trained, diving further and further into Occlumency, Legilimency, and offensive magic and Dark spells of the sort that would not even be seen in the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts Library. All bets were off now. The time for Stunning was long past. From now on, they had to cast to kill, and kill with the first spell, just to survive. There was no time to discuss or even contemplate how supposedly 'dark' a spell was.

This was proven just a month later. A squad of Death Eaters – or as they were called now, the 'Special Enforcement Squad' – came knocking in their neighbourhood, dragging out muggles to rape, torture, and murder for pleasure.

Harry and Hermione confronted them and killed every last one before they even had a chance to fight back.

They had to resort to stealing using the invisibility cloak to survive. They had no more funds available to them, and the moment they stepped into a muggle store, they stood the risk of being recognized, or even of being turned in on a whim – a ten-million-Pound bounty had been placed on each of their heads.

They had settled into a sort of morbid routine. Wake up, train, go out for supplies, train again, and pass the evenings with sex. There was nothing else to do. They were trapped and cornered with only each other for support and company. To think was unhealthy, for there was nothing to think about but the darkness of the world, so all they could do was to feel.

* * *

**2004**

Voldemort had taken over much of Europe. The actual invasions were short and brutal. Both the magical and muggle governments of the occupied countries had been long subverted through similar means to the British state before any of Voldemort's army set foot on their soil.

The resistance in Britain was gone. The massive propaganda and fear campaigns had worked, and even the muggles were now subservient to Voldemort's rule. Any muggles who still displayed signs of disloyalty to Voldemort – even failing to bow before his portrait before entering an establishment – were arrested and sent to the camps.

Special Enforcement Squad members roamed the streets, torturing and killing muggles for sport. It was all Harry and Hermione could do to stop them – with lethal force – before they could wreck too much havoc on their immediate neighbours.

Harry and Hermione both craved children, but to bring new life into this perverted world was more than cruel.

Both knew their days were numbered. Sooner or later, they would be found and killed in the most brutal way possible. Hope that he could one day defeat Voldemort had long vanished for Harry. Even Hermione could not bring herself to give him false hope.

The only thing they wanted now was to live the rest of their lives with each other in relative happiness and peace, and when they finally died, to take as many Death Eaters with them as they possibly could.

For that was the best they could hope for in this dying world.


	2. I: Betrayal

Harry was standing by the sink, cleaning up after their dinner. Outside in the living room, the television was on. The perverted BBC was extolling the sentence of death by hanging handed out to a group of secondary-aged children for allegedly making crude jokes about Regent Voldemort. Harry ought to feel disgusted, but that was by far not the most unpleasant thing he had heard on the news in recent years.

Hermione sat at the kitchen table, her head lying on her arms. Her face was sickly pale, as it had often been for the last six years. Harry had long since given up on any lingering hope that he could get her mind off the horrors of the present, for he could not practice what he had tried to preach, either.

'How are you?' he asked softly, concerned that she looked weaker than usual.

'Tired. The afternoon training was hard.'

Harry sighed. The standard justification of 'the more you sweat in training, the less you bleed in battle' was but a sick joke these days. For both knew that they had as much chance of singlehandedly carrying the uprising against Voldemort as the Chudley Cannons had of winning the European Quidditch Champions League cup. Nowadays, they only trained for something to do, something to keep them moving.

'Do you want to get some sleep?' Harry asked.

'No. Not yet, anyway. We've never been able to sleep without good shag first.'

'We don't have to – '

'I want to. I need to. And you know you need it, too,' Hermione cut him off. 'It's the one bloody thing that we can do that's not all darkness and horror and war.'

Harry could not find any arguments to that. As much as he wanted Hermione to rest, he could not deny her the one and best respite they had from the constant fear.

'Want to get on it now, then? So you can go to sleep earlier?'

Hermione nodded weakly.

Harry walked over to her and pulled her to her feet. He placed a chaste kiss on her lips before carrying her to the bedroom. That was not an act of passion, it was an act of need, for Hermione was weak, and he did not want her to exert herself.

Hermione threw off her top immediately and stripped off her trousers. She laid down on the bed. Harry noticed that her movements were lethargic.

'Why don't you just lie there and relax?' Harry suggested, 'I'll do all the moving.'

'Always so bloody noble,' she teased weakly, smiling.

Harry straddled her and penetrated her almost immediately. There was no strength for passionate lovemaking most days. They could show their affection and love in other ways – most of all just by being there, alive, for one another. Sex's only purpose had been relaxation and escape for years now.

Harry thrust repeatedly while Hermione moaned softly and tiredly beneath him. It was taking a little more effort tonight than usual to bring her to climax, but Harry enjoyed the hard work, knowing that he was doing it for her sake.

Hermione shook a little as she reached her orgasm. Harry followed her a few seconds later. Totally spent, he collapsed on top of her.

'I love you so much,' Harry whispered into her ear, 'I will follow you wherever you go.'

Both of the young adults knew what he was implying. There was no point of living if the other died. They were each other's whole world, their only world. It was better to follow the other to the grave than to go it alone in the horrors of society under Voldemort.

'I love you more,' Hermione replied, 'And I'll never leave you on your own.'

Harry rolled off his wife and cuddled her in his arms. She was the only thing that mattered in the world. And that was not an exaggeration.

Less than six years ago, they were heroes, living in the afterglow of what was the greatest victory in wizarding history. And now, they were simply a man and a woman, barely out of their teens, doing everything they could to survive just another day. Not to survive for themselves, but for the other's sake.

And they would live the rest of their short lives this way, for there was no realistic way out now.

The doorbell rang.

Harry and Hermione jumped up, pulled on their clothes quickly, and grabbed a wand off the bedside table. Harry noticed he was holding Hermione's. It did not matter. For years now, they had been using each other's wands and it had always felt no different from their own. Harry walked up to the door and opened it a chink, pointing Hermione's wand through the crack. Behind him, Hermione covered him with the Elder Wand.

'Harry?' asked a scared voice.

'Identify yourself,' Harry ordered gruffly.

'Ritchie Coote,' the voice answered.

Harry's eyes narrowed. 'The broomstick you flew on in your sixth year on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team.'

'A Cleansweep Seven,' Coote replied.

Satisfied, Harry opened the door wider. 'What is it, Coote?'

'May I come in?'

'Give me your wand when you enter,' Harry ordered.

Coote complied with the order and handed Harry his wand. 'Ten inches, poplar, unicorn hair,' he said.

Harry nodded. That matched the description of Coote's wand that he had given him years ago.

Harry bade Coote to sit down on an armchair while he took the loveseat. Hermione walked over to Harry and plopped down next to him, leaning on him a little.

'What business do you have here, Coote?' she asked.

He took a deep breath. 'When was the last time you saw Ron?'

'Ron Weasley?' Harry asked, surprised.

'Yes. Ron Weasley.'

Hermione thought about it for a moment. 'It must have been around four years already. Why?'

'I've gotten word that he'd turned up again, in Northern Ireland, of all places,' Coote dropped the bombshell.

Harry gaped. 'How do you know?'

'I heard a couple of higher-ups in the SES talking about it when I was hiding in the attic of a shop,' he explained. 'Something about how he's in Belfast, and how they're looking for a way to use him to "get to you".'

'Are you saying they're going to do something horrible to him?' Hermione gasped, shocked.

Coote shrugged sadly. 'I have no information. That's all I know. When I heard, I looked everywhere for you two. I thought you might want to know.'

'And do you know anything about how…how he's been doing?' Harry pressed, 'If he's healthy? If he's okay?'

Coote shook his head. 'I don't know,' he admitted, 'I only came to tell you what I know. I can't stay here long.'

He rose and walked to the door. As Harry handed his wand back to him, he turned around and looked Harry and Hermione in the eyes.

'You know those of us who still survive have faith in the two of you, right?'

Harry felt touched by this simple statement of solidarity. He could feel tears coming to his eyes. But he did not know what to say. He could not show him reality without destroying his blind hope. The blind hope that kept him and all the rest of them going.

'Thank you,' he choked out. 'It means a lot to us.'

Coote nodded curtly, threw the hood of his travelling cloak over his head, and exited the apartment, closing the door behind him.

Harry turned to Hermione. He could see tears in her eyes, too.

'Ron's alive,' she whimpered, 'I feared the worst. I never knew anything…'

Harry gathered her in his arms. 'It's okay. He's alive. That's more than we could've asked for.'

Hermione nodded into his chest. 'Will we be able to get in contact with him?'

'I hope. But I hope that he'll only contact us if he's safe.'

'Ron's not stupid, Hermione,' he assured her. 'He'll know how to stay alive. He'd done it for four years, after all.'

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. 'Bed?' she asked.

'Sleep or sex?'

'Sleep. I'm so tired.'

Harry nodded and began to lead her to the bedroom. Just then, a yell and a bang issued from somewhere out the window. Abandoning everything else, Harry and Hermione both rushed to the window.

Down the street, a cloaked man that must have been Coote was facing down two SES brutes dressed in dark green robes. Curses were flying everywhere.

Coote may have been outnumbered, but his skill outstripped that of the pathetic thugs. His well-aimed Blasting Curse tore one of the robed figures apart while the other's legs were blown from his body and his entrails flew everywhere.

Satisfied, Coote turned around and began to walk away, assuming that both were dead.

And then the mortally wounded thug raised his wand.

Hermione gave a quiet but shrill shriek next to him. Harry wanted to scream in horror himself.

Coote, with his back turned, did not know what happened until it was too late.

' _Avada Kedavra!_ ' the thug bellowed with his dying breath.

The green jet of light hit the former Beater in the small of his back. He crumpled, not knowing what had hit him, and fell to the pavement, dead.

* * *

Three days after Coote's death, Ron's Patronus arrived at Harry and Hermione's home, carrying a message.

' _I'm alive and well, but I can't say too much right now,'_ the Jack Russell Terrier said in Ron's voice. It had been so long since Harry had last seen him that the sound was almost unfamiliar. ' _Please send word as soon as you can. I missed you both.'_

The couple replied almost immediately, using Harry's Patronus.

' _We are alive. Can't say much more than that. We heard that the Nibblers were after you. Stay safe.'_

Ron's second message came the following morning.

' _Haven't seen any Nibblers where I am, but I'm laying low as you advised. I have much to tell you, would we be able to meet in person at some point?'_

'Do you want to see him?' asked Harry as the Patronus faded into mist.

Hermione thought about it. 'I don't know if we can trust him. He completely disappeared for four years and we don't know where he went. He could've been compromised without him even knowing it. But he also promises information, and we really could use that…'

Harry nodded. 'He might know more about Voldemort's movements and plans than we do, holed up in here.'

'We can't invite him into our home, though. That's too risky.'

'I agree. We have to find some neutral location, away from both magical and muggle eyes.'

'Is it safe to put the time and place in a Patronus?' Hermione asked sceptically.

Harry thought for a minute, then nodded. 'Patronuses cannot be intercepted. We should be safe.'

They sent Hermione's Patronus in reply almost immediately. Ron's final message came the next morning.

' _Received. Will be present at the given time and place._ '

'We're going to see him!' Hermione squealed. 'And to think I'd always thought that he was gone…'

Harry rubbed her back consolingly. 'I did too,' he murmured into her ear. 'I haven't felt so…alive…for a long time.'

'I know how you feel,' Hermione replied into his chest. 'I wonder what he has to tell us.'

Harry shrugged. 'I don't know, but he wouldn't ask to meet us if it weren't important.'

Hermione pulled back from him. Harry saw that her face was streaked with tears, and miraculously, was not as pale as it usually was. It seemed that Ron being alive had breathed new hope and life into her.

And Harry could not help but feel the same. The trio was soon to be reunited once more, and he knew that together, they could take on anything.

* * *

'Are you sure this the place?' Hermione asked as they apparated. Harry threw his invisibility cloak off of them and stowed it in an inner pocket of his coat.

'This is the same clearing that I remembered from all those years ago.'

They were standing in the clearing that they had come to seven years ago to escape the Death Eaters after the break-in at the Ministry. It was rather fitting, then, that they had returned here now.

'Ron should be here any minute now,' Hermione said quietly, glancing down at her watch. It was five in the morning.

Harry took a few rocks from the forest floor and transfigured them into a few armchairs while Hermione put up the protective enchantments that had used in the Horcrux quest years ago. All this gave Harry a strong sense of déjà vu.

A sharp crack let known Ron's appearance outside of their protective bubble. Harry and Hermione rushed out towards the sound to find their old friend.

Ron looked worse for wear. He was thinner than ever. His red hair was long and unkempt. His back was hunched, and like Harry and Hermione both, his face was ghostly white and gaunt from the years of exertion.

His face bore a curious expression. Harry could detect fear and pain readily, but there was almost a sort of grim triumph in his countenance. He wondered what hardships he had overcome to be standing here today.

Ron looked at his two old friends and his face screwed up.

'Harry, Hermione,' he called hoarsely.

'Ron!' Hermione shrieked. She ran up to him and threw her arms around his neck.

Ron stiffened and his face grew even more pained. The years of separation had been hard on him. Harry could not imagine what he had to have gone through all on his own. He had it hard enough himself, and he had always had Hermione at his side.

'Harry,' Ron croaked, 'You're here.'

'As are you,' Harry found it in himself to reply.

The two men looked at each other in silence. Ron's eyes bore a hardened look, almost as if he had been tempered by pain, anguish, and struggle.

Harry raised his wand. Ron flinched a little, but Harry did not care. Even in the excitement of reunion, the protocols had to be observed. 'The first time I visited the Burrow.'

'Fred and George and I flew the car to your relatives' house,' Ron answered. 'How and when did Fred and George get the funds they needed for their joke shop?'

'I gave them my Triwizard winnings at the end of the fourth year,' Harry replied.

Harry thought he heard Ron mutter something that he did not catch as he lowered his wand. 'You are the real Harry Potter, then.'

'I am,' said Harry with a small chuckle. He walked over to Ron and held out his hand. Ron shook it limply.

Hermione had returned to Harry's side. 'Should we sit down?'

Ron nodded and followed Harry and Hermione through the bubble formed by the protective enchantments to sit down on the transfigured armchairs in the centre of the clearing. Hermione conjured a kettle and made three small cups of dandelion tea.

'Sorry,' she apologized quietly, 'Supplies are tight. This is all we have.'

Ron nodded emotionlessly. ''S fine,' he muttered.

Harry thought that there was no need to ask 'How are you', as the answer would either be an obvious lie or be horrible to hear. He cut right to the chase instead.

'How did you find us?'

'I've been hiding around the country for years,' Ron began nervously, his voice quaking, 'And I never knew whether the two of you were alive or dead. Then I bumped into Ritchie Coote, and he told me that he knew you two were hiding in Northern Ireland, so I contacted you as soon as I could.'

'Coote was killed,' Hermione broke the news softly. 'An SES thug murdered him when his back was turned.'

'I'm sorry to hear,' Ron said flatly. There was a flash of something across his face that Harry did not quite like.

'You said you had things to tell us,' Harry pressed on bluntly. There would be time for emotional reunification later, but right now, they were out in the open, and the sooner they all returned to their safehouses, the better.

'It concerns the Dark Lord – '

'When did you start calling Riddle the Dark Lord?' Hermione interrupted. She and Harry never used that honorific. He was always 'Riddle' to them – nothing more than a person, a bastard son of rape.

'Wh-When I was h-hiding,' Ron answered sheepishly, 'I…I had to use the common language. To blend in, see?'

Harry nodded, understanding yet not feeling satisfied. 'Go on.'

'The Dark Lo…R-Riddle is planning something. Some major operation,' Ron told them. 'I…I heard it in a p-pub from a couple of loose-lipped SES officers – '

'The SES are just common thugs, Ron,' Harry interjected, 'They're not legitimate officers of the law in our eyes.'

Annoyance flashed across Ron's face, but he reigned himself in. 'Please just let me finish,' he requested evenly. Harry nodded for him to continue.

'They're planning a sweep of the country for you,' he explained, caressing his left forearm nervously. 'Every muggle and magical house. They're going to lure you out of hiding into the open.'

Harry and Hermione exchanged a look. If Ron's information was correct, they needed to head out of the country, or at least double down on their attempts to evade the Death Eaters.

'Is there anything else?' Harry asked, pressing for more information before making any decision.

If it were at all possible, Ron's face turned even more white. 'Y-Yes,' he stammered. 'Uh…the Ministry! They're rounding up mu-muggle-borns. And they're sending them to – '

'We know,' Hermione said firmly. 'We've known it for years, but we don't have the numbers anymore to do anything about it. We've run into our fair share of SES ourselves.'

'Y-You have?'

'Yes,' Harry affirmed grimly. 'We've had to kill many of them, too.'

'You've killed?'

'We had to.'

'H-How many?'

'We stopped counting somewhere in the mid-thirties between the two of us.'

Ron's face was terrified and ashen as he gasped.

Harry shrugged. 'I don't regret killing them. It was either they die or Hermione or I die. The choice is easy.'

'I un-understand.'

Harry nodded. 'If that's all, we're going to go now,' he said as he rose and pulled Hermione to her feet. 'It's not safe to be out here for long. You should go, too.'

'No.'

Harry spun around. 'No?' he asked, curious.

'No. You can't leave.'

'Why not? Is there something else you need to tell us?'

Ron fidgeted on the armchair. 'You need to stay.'

'Ron, what are you thinking?' Hermione demanded shrilly. 'Do you want us to get caught?'

Ron said nothing.

'Are you trying to turn us in?' Harry asked, reproving himself immediately for suggesting such backstabbing.

But his self-reproach was not unwarranted. 'I need to,' Ron said in a small voice, raising his wand at the pair. 'Or…or I die.'

'So you're willing to turn in your two oldest friends, who just happen to be the two people leading whatever resistance is left, just so they'll stave of killing you for what, a year?' Hermione snapped, shocked.

'Are we friends?' Ron asked.

'I bloody well thought we were,' Harry shot back, still disbelieving that Ron would even think of betraying them like that.

'I can't be so sure,' Ron spat, his voice hardening now. 'If you didn't realize, being friends with the two of you cost my entire family their lives!'

'Your family knew what they were getting in to!' Harry bellowed. 'What a way to repay their sacrifice, turning us in to save your own pathetic skin!'

'If I turn you in, they promised me I'd be able to see them again…'

'Ron! You know that no spell can awaken the dead!' Hermione pleaded. 'Surely you don't believe them!'

'Well, I have to hope, don't I? The Dark Lord's done extraordinary things. I'm sure if anyone can raise the dead, he can!'

'Yeah,' Harry agreed, 'And by turning Hermione and I in, you want to get the Dark Mark, then become his most faithful servant, in hopes that he'll perform some horrible necromancy and bring back your family?'

Ron rolled up his sleeve. There, on his left forearm, was the horrible black mark of the Death Eaters.

'It was the only way…I would've died. You don't know how it was like out there. I have to bring you to him. When I do, he'll reward me beyond my wildest dreams,' Ron whimpered. 'He'll reward me with my family…'

'And you don't think your family would be disgusted by what you've done? You don't think they'll disown you for – '

He was cut off as Ron pressed the tip of his wand to his Dark Mark. Harry's scar burned. Hermione threw her arms around him, supporting him, as pops of apparition around them signalled the arrival of the Death Eaters.

Hermione shifted behind him, so that they were now standing back-to-back, their wands raised. Around the clearing stood no less than ten black-robed and hooded Death Eaters, supported by at least the same number of green-robed SES. Leading them, Harry saw with a rush of revulsion, was none other than the Minister for Magic, Dolores Umbridge, whose toad-like face bore a wide, sickly smile.

'Well done, Weasley,' Umbridge simpered.

The traitor had knelt down at the pink toad's feet. 'Thank you, Minister. L-Long live the E-Emperor,' he stammered.

'You will be rewarded for your services, of course,' said Umbridge. 'Lucius!'

Ron turned to Lucius Malfoy. 'Lord Malfoy, the Dark Lord p-promised.'

Lucius Malfoy raised his wand at Ron. 'That he did,' he drawled. His sneer was reflected in his voice. 'You will be reunited with your blood traitor family now, Weasley. _Avada Kedavra!_ '

And the green jet of light hit Ron right between the eyes. He fell over, dead. In a strange twist of poetic justice, the betrayer was himself betrayed.

'And now, our…guests,' Umbridge said sweetly, turning her amphibian face towards Harry and Hermione. 'The Dark Lord has orders for capturing the boy, of course, but the Mudblood girl…' Umbridge paused to sneer. 'What do you suggest, Lucius?'

'Madam Umbridge, my son, Draco, could get well-acquainted with that…thing,' Lucius replied silkily. 'What do you say, Draco?'

The shorter figure beside Lucius came forward. 'It could last a few weeks,' the hated voice of Draco Malfoy spoke. 'After that, I can dispose of what's left.'

'Very well,' Umbridge said, 'Draco, go forth and take what has been granted to you.'

Draco started forward towards the centre of the clearing. A rush of rage flowed through Harry. No one would hurt Hermione under his watch. Unconsciously and without thinking, he had levelled the Elder Wand, pointing it at Draco. Draco froze for a moment before going for his own wand. But he was not fast enough to save his own life.

' _Avada Kedavra!_ ' Harry shouted the curse. The green jet of light issued from the Elder Wand and hit the younger Malfoy right in the chest. He fell over, dead.

With barely a second's hesitation, the Elder Wand fell again, casting the same curse. This time, it was Lucius who was struck, and he, like his son, fell, dead before he had even hit the ground.

Umbridge, too, had raised his wand to Harry's left, pointing it at him. ' _Cru-_ '

' _Avada Kedavra!_ ' Hermione incanted from behind him. Her Killing Curse hit Umbridge right in the groin, ending her life instantly.

Only after three of their own number had fallen did the rest of the Death Eaters and SES begin raising their wands. Curses began flying in all directions. He had a hard time aiming at any single Death Eater through the blinding light and dust being kicked up by spell impacts. Landing a spell like the Killing Curse now was impossible.

' _Oleoarde_!' he heard Hermione shout, pointing her wand in the general area where some spells were coming from. Faraway shrieks of pain told Harry that her spell had hit. A Death Eater was burning to death, covered in conjured petrol.

' _Sectumsempra_!' Harry yelled, waving the Elder Wand in a wide arc. More screams.

Seconds turned into minutes; minutes turned into hours as the battled. Harry was thankful for their fierce training, for it was the only thing that was keeping them alive against such overwhelming odds.

Through the haze, a Death Eater emerged feet in front of Harry. He raised his wand and began a slashing motion. Faintly, it registered in Harry's brain that it was Dolohov. Without even thinking, Harry had stuck the Elder Wand between his eyes and incanted the Killing Curse. Hermione's almost-killer at the Department of Mysteries fell to the ground as he was hit by the fatal spell.

Hermione suddenly shrieked and pulled Harry aside. He saw out of the corner of his eye an orange spell flash past him. He barely had time to be glad that whatever spell that was had not hit him or Hermione when another hooded man emerged through the dust. By the cackling laugh, Harry recognized him as Amycus Carrow. Without hesitation, Harry's Organ-Liquefaction Curse melted his insides, leaving the Death Eater kneeling on the ground, clutching at his chest and stomach in horrible agony.

The dust was clearing now that fewer Death Eaters were still alive and fighting. One green-robed SES thug attempted to run into the woods. Hermione cursed her in the back with an Organ-Liquefaction Curse. The woman wailed in agony as her organs boiled. It was grim, but those who tried to retreat had to die. Otherwise, they would bring their fellows right back after them.

There were more than ten bodies lying dead on the forest floor, including the pink-clad body of the Minister for Magic. The remaining Death Eaters and SES, however, were still foolishly fighting back, not recognizing that the fight was already lost. Three-to-one or four-to-one were manageable odds for Harry and Hermione. The Death Eaters did not know that, however.

A squat female Death Eater stepped out fully from behind a tree to cast a curse. A stupid mistake. Harry incanted the Killing Curse and Alecto Carrow died before she could even react.

Hermione was still exchanging spell fire with two or three Death Eaters while Harry was facing another two in front of him.

' _Avada Kedavra!_ ' one of the SES reinforcements suddenly shouted, emerging from his cover. Harry dove out of the way and pulled Hermione with him.

' _Confringo!_ ' Harry cast, aiming at the trunk of the tree next to him, nearly at head level. The Elder Wand-powered Blasting Curse caused nearly the entire tree to explode and rain shrapnel all over the SES thug hiding behind its neighbour. His neck was but a sliver of skin and flesh when everything cleared.

Hermione seemed to have caught on to the trick. She cast a Blasting Curse of her own at one of the trees behind which a Death Eater must have been hiding. She had to shield herself with a silent Shield Charm as wood splinters flew all around the forest. The Death Eater fell forward, decapitated.

There were now only two opponents left – both SES. They emerged from behind their covers with their hands in the air and threw their wands on the ground.

'We surrender!' the one to his left shouted. 'Please don't kill us! We don't want to die like Nott! Please!'

'Do we spare them?' Harry whispered to Hermione.

'No,' he heard her reply behind him. 'Where would we put them? We don't have a prisoner-of-war camp. We have to execute them. Otherwise, they'll just go back to killing again.'

Harry nodded. She had a point. He raised his wand and pointed it at the prisoner to his right. He closed his eyes, hating himself for what he had to do. But it was war, and unforgiving, brutal war. And he was fighting for Hermione's life. And his own, he supposed.

' _Avada Kedavra!_ '

Harry opened his eyes and the man had already dropped dead. His hood had fallen off and his face was contorted in an expression of horror. Hermione took a deep breath behind him.

' _Avada Kedavra!_ ' she, too, shouted. The other man's life was instantly ended, just like his companion's.

Harry turned around and gathered her in his arms, taking a risk in the middle of a recent battlefield. She was bone-white and shaking. He had to comfort her, even just a little.

'We have to get out of here,' she said quietly but with a sense of conviction. 'Out of the country, maybe. Ron might be…our Pettigrew…but he's right. They're hunting us. They'll hunt us even harder now that we've wiped out about twenty of their number and the supposed Minister for Magic.'

'Where?'

'I don't know,' Hermione replied, sounding panicked now. 'We…let's…I don't know! Where can we go? Our old hideout might be compromised. Fuck! Ron might've put a Tracking Charm on the Patronus messages…or something! I don't know if it's even possible…but well…everything we had thought was impossible ended up being possible, didn't they?'

Harry rubbed her back soothingly. 'We'll go somewhere that's not here.'

They spent half a minute removing the apparition-preventing jinxes that the Death Eaters had put up. Then, Harry took Hermione's hand and the two disapparated.


	3. II: Casualties

Harry and Hermione found themselves in another clearing in the middle of another forest. It was the clearing where Ron had run out on them years ago during the Horcrux quest. The irony that it was the first place to come into Harry's mind right now was not lost on either of them.

'I wish we had a tent,' Hermione muttered, attempting at humour.

Harry did not find that all too amusing, but forced a laugh for the sake of his wife. Harry conjured an armchair and sat Hermione down on it, before conjuring another one for himself.

'We have to go,' she said again, more matter-of-factly than nervously this time.

'Where would we go?' Harry repeated his question.

'Anywhere but here,' Hermione answered simply. Harry said nothing. He had no better ideas. 'And we can't travel by Portkey or Floo or anything like that. If we need to get out of the country, we'll have to go the muggle way,' she muttered. 'Magical transportation is being monitored by the Ministry.'

'I'm pretty sure the muggle authorities would arrest us on sight.'

'We'll have to steal a boat or a plane or…bloody hell, something, and sneak out,' she said, her voice getting shakier with each word. She looked at Harry, steeling herself. 'We need to go back to our flat first.'

'Hermione, you know they might've tracked us there. They definitely had a "Plan B" for if Ron did not hand us over.'

'We have to,' she said weakly. 'All our books and essentials are there. We can't just leave without them.'

Harry did not protest. They needed their little library. Merlin knows when the knowledge contained might save their lives. They would also need their clothes, counterfeit muggle currency created by the Doubling Charm, and their meagre supply of food, of course.

'You're right,' he conceded. 'We'll disapparate under the cloak. Let's get what we need and get out. We need to be ready for a fight.'

Harry took out the cloak from underneath his coat and threw it over the both of them. He and Hermione linked hands and turned on the spot.

They reappeared a street away from their flat. They made their way there carefully under the cloak. When they turned the corner, Hermione gasped.

Parked in front of the shoddy building that they called home were several armoured cars of the muggle secret police. In a wide semicircle around the front door stood officers, who were pointing their assault rifles at the second-floor window that Harry knew to be theirs.

Slipping past the muggle secret police was easy enough under the invisibility cloak. They slowly made their way to the door and crept inside, drawing their wands. Discreetly, Harry cast a Sound-Proofing Charm on the whole building using the Elder Wand, so that if any fighting began, the enemies outside would not hear nor react.

The slowly and silently crept up the stairs under the cloak, wands in hand and ready to attack at a moment's notice. As they rounded the final flight of stairs, they saw two masked secret police standing on either side of a thug from the SES.

Harry levelled his wand at the centre man. He considered his choices. A Blasting Curse would eliminate everyone in one go, but possibly bring them unwanted attention. A Killing Curse would be far quieter, but he risked the others reacting to the death of one of their own.

'On three,' Hermione whispered, making the decision for him, 'Use the Killing Curse. You aim for the SES brute. I'll take out the secret police officer on the left. Once you've cast, kill the one on the left.'

Harry nodded. 'One, two, three,' he counted down. ' _Avada Kedavra!_ ' both cast simultaneously.

Before the green jets of light had even hit their targets, Harry was shouting ' _Avada Kedavra_ ' again, aiming at leftmost officer. Before any of them could do anything, they were already dead.

Harry and Hermione wheeled around just in time to see a green jet of light soar over their heads. An SES thug had Disillusioned himself. He was stupid, however. Harry traced the path of the Killing Curse and pointed his wand at where it had come from.

' _Avada Kedavra!_ ' he yelled. The idiot had not even moved. The Disillusionment Charm faded as he died, and the thug wore an expression of horror on his unmoving face.

Harry quickly waved his wand to cast a Shield Charm on the stairwell. He and Hermione charged inside their flat. Hermione whipped out her beaded bag and Harry reached for his similarly charmed backpack that was currently leaning against an armchair. They began throwing books into them as quickly as they could, never mind organization. That could be sorted out later. When their entire bookshelf had been emptied, they dashed into their bedroom and began pulling as many pieces of clothing out of the wardrobe as they could and stuffing them into their respective bags. Finally, Harry reached for the safe and dumped all their counterfeit cash into his backpack.

Hermione was in the kitchen already. The icebox and refrigerator were both opened wide, and Hermione was pulling each item out and hastily casting preservation charms before throwing it in her bag. She took only solid food. Condiments, spices, and drinks were left behind.

As she did this, Harry returned to their bedroom. He collected his photo album of his parents, the picture of the Order of the Phoenix that Mad-Eye Moody had given him all those years ago, and the group picture of the DA taken the Christmas after Voldemort's second defeat. He placed them with care into his rucksack. He gathered up the few photos he had of himself and Hermione together and put them on top. Finally, he opened the bedside table drawer and removed Hermione's diary and her one photo of her parents. Harry could not leave it behind.

Sentimental items collected, he met Hermione in the living room.

'Ready?'

'Ready.'

Harry threw the cloak back over them and stepped out of the flat. The stairwell was still deserted. Apparently, the men outside had not been alerted to the deaths of their fellows inside. Harry bent down and inspected the bodies of the secret police officers. Lying next to each of them was an assault rifle. On a whim, he picked them up and put them into his bag before stripping the magazines from their bodies and taking them, as well.

'You think we'll need guns?' Hermione asked.

Harry shrugged. 'Maybe. It's good to prepare. Besides, our bags have Featherlight Charms on them. It makes no difference.'

'Where now?'

'We need to find Neville and Luna and Daphne,' Harry replied. 'They need to know what's going on. If we now need to head out of the country or go into hiding somewhere else, we should warn them.'

'We haven't seen them for more than a year,' Hermione whispered. 'Do we even know…do we even know if they're still alive?'

'If they're dead, we would've heard about it,' Harry argued. 'We can't just abandon them. If they're coming for us, then they'll come for them, too. Let's go.'

Harry and Hermione crept back down the stairs and onto the street, still unnoticed by anyone. They slowly made their way back to their apparition point and departed their hiding place – their home – perhaps forever.

They apparated to a little town on the north-western coast of Scotland. It was quiet, and there were no SES or secret police thugs in sight. Neither Harry nor Hermione dared take off the cloak, however. The chance that a muggle would recognize them and turn them in was too great.

The two of them walked down a side street that they had visited only once, more than a year ago. Harry, Neville, and Hermione agreed that the best way to ensure their safety was strict radio silence – no communications, magical or muggle.

Hermione pulled Harry to a stop in front of decrepit-looking house near the outskirts of the town. There was a distinct magical-ness about the place that not many would be able to pick up, but Harry could. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

The door slid open a millimetre and Harry pulled the cloak off him.

'Who is it?' asked a voice that Harry recognized as Luna's. Harry wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but the sound that came from behind the door was so unlike her. It was not dreamy or nonchalant, but rather grim and deadly serious.

'It's me, Harry,' he replied. 'And Hermione.'

'Prove it,' Luna ordered curtly. Another way the war had changed her. 'What did the Ravenclaw Tower knocker ask you during the Battle of Hogwarts?'

'The knocker asked us, "What came first, the phoenix or the flame?" to which you answered, "It's a circle with no beginning,"' Harry replied.

'It is. And then you Cruciated Amycus Carrow when he spat on Professor McGonagall,' Luna said, proving her own identity. Harry saw a sliver of the old Luna return as she relished in the memory. 'What about Hermione?'

'She's safe,' Harry replied.

Luna opened the door wider. 'Come inside. It's not safe to stay out there.'

Harry stepped inside. Hermione followed him in and closed the door behind them. When his eyes adjusted to the low light, he saw Luna clearly for the first time in more than fourteen months. She looked tired and aged. There were purple bags under her eyes and her forehead was lightly wrinkled.

And then Harry saw her arm, and gasped. Her left arm was wrapped in a muggle sling, and she moved about a little stiffly because of the impediment.

'What happened, Luna?' Hermione asked, concerned.

'We ran into a few muggle secret police,' she answered warily. 'Two bullets to the left arm, broke both bones. It's too much to fix by spells alone and we don't have Skele-Gro. This was the only way.'

Hermione looked like she wanted to throw her arms around Luna, but Luna shook her head, gesturing at her wounded arm.

'Where're the others?' Harry inquired.

'Neville got hurt a few months ago,' Luna replied grimly. 'He got hit with some sort of really dark lacerating curse from one of the SES people. We can stop the bleeding by magic and temporarily close his wound with stitches, but we can't heal him completely. Daph's changing the stitches right now, since I can't. She's the least hurt of all of us, but that's only because we've actually managed to _heal_ her wounds.'

Harry gulped. 'Can we see them?'

Luna nodded and silently led Harry and Hermione into a small, musty kitchen. Neville sat in a chair facing them, and Harry could see the terrible, open wound. Daphne Greengrass sat with her back turned to the door, and she was gently working the needle through Neville's skin. Neville winced every time the sharp point pierced his flesh.

If Harry had to guess who would be one of the last survivors of the Order of the Phoenix a decade ago, Daphne Greengrass would not be anywhere near the top of the list. But in the years after she had joined the Third Order, she had become a remarkably good fighter, on par with Neville and, Harry thought with a pang of pain, Ginny, George, Susan Bones, and all the rest.

'Harry! Hermione!' Neville beamed when he saw them. 'How are you? Why're you here?'

'Calm down,' Harry heard Daphne mutter. 'Give me another minute, damn it. I only have three or four more left to do. You wouldn't want me to stab you by accident, would you?'

Neville looked sheepish and settled back down. 'So why _are_ you here, Harry, Hermione?'

'We've got news,' Hermione replied darkly. 'And you won't like it.'

Harry and Hermione waited for Daphne to finish patching up Neville before sitting down, the five gathered around the kitchen table.

'What is it, then?' Neville asked.

'Remember Ron?' Hermione began.

Neville's eyes widened as he nodded. 'He disappeared, like, what…four years ago? Are you saying he…?'

'In a way,' Harry replied. 'Turns out he wasn't dead or in hiding for four years…or at least not all of it, by the looks of things.'

'I hope you're not implying what I think you're implying,' Daphne murmured, blanching.

'If you think I'm implying that Ron betrayed me and Hermione, then you're right,' Harry said nastily. 'He tried to turn us into the Death Eaters.'

' _What?_ ' Neville roared, slapping the table, causing everyone to jump. 'Ron Weasley _betrayed_ you?'

'Yes, Neville,' Hermione confirmed, sounding a little scared. Neville sat back down, seeing the expression on her face. 'Ron Weasley joined with the Ministry or the Death Eaters or whatever. Same difference. He tried to turn us in to Umbridge.'

'Why?' was Neville's simple question.

'I think they fooled him,' Hermione said honestly. 'He was desperate. They promised that Riddle would bring back his family. I think that got him.'

Luna scowled. 'Magic can't reawaken the dead. Everyone knows this.'

'Forget that, what a way to repay his family's sacrifice,' Neville spat, sneering. 'Ginny, Arthur, Fred, George… _everyone_! _They died for the cause that he turned against!_ What happened to him?'

'He's dead,' Harry answered savagely, no trace of sadness in his voice. 'Lucius Malfoy killed him. They never were going to honour their promise.'

Neville shrugged. 'Obviously. So…you were tracked by the Death Eaters?'

Harry and Hermione both nodded. 'We were. There must've been a good ten of them, supported by at least ten SES. The toad herself was there.'

'And what happened to them?' Neville pressed.

'They're all dead,' Harry replied. 'We killed every last one of them, including Umbridge.'

Neville gasped. 'You've just gutted the Riddle Ministry?'

'Decapitated, then drawn and quartered it, more like,' Harry said.

'Then we need to go now!' Neville shouted. 'The Ministry are weak! They're leaderless! This is our chance to take back – '

'You and whose army?' Daphne interrupted. 'Us five, taking on the entire SES, secret police, and half the muggle armed forces? Neville, use your brain.'

Neville scowled at her. 'What better chance are we going to get? Harry, what do you think?'

Harry sighed. 'I agree with Daphne.' Neville scowled at him, too. 'Look, Neville. Sure, the Riddle Ministry is going to be weakened for a few weeks, but they're still in control of the SES. Riddle still holds all the power over the muggle government through Rookwood and the Union of Fascists. You tell me how we're going to topple both with just the five of us, two of whom are already wounded.'

'What do you suggest we do, then?'

'We have to double down on hiding.'

Neville looked incredulous. 'And throw away our opportunity?'

'What opportunity, Neville?' Hermione sounded exasperated. 'We don't _have_ any opportunity. We killed ten-or-so Death Eaters – high-ranking ones – sure, but that's a drop in the bucket. It's not like we eliminated Riddle or Rookwood or anyone that would instantly decapitate the whole Riddle regime. Umbridge doesn't hold anywhere near enough power in the grand scheme of things.'

'This is the best chance we've ever had!' Neville shot back, raising his voice. 'This might be the best chance we would ever have! The Minister's dead. Riddle's forces will be in disarray!'

'I think the same, Neville,' Hermione replied. 'But how? We've won the battle, but we're no closer to winning the war than we ever were. We can't march into the Ministry right now and take it over, even with ten or so of them, including the Minister, dead! And even then, what about the muggle government?'

Neville sighed. 'I know we don't have the numbers we used to, but – '

The house trembled.

Five wands shot into their owners' hands reflexively. 'What's going on?' Neville breathed, alarmed.

Harry shook his head and gestured for everyone to stay quiet. The house was rocked again. The door shook in its frame.

'Spread out and cover the entrances,' Hermione ordered, battle reflexes kicking in. Harry and the others followed her direction without question. Harry covered the door from one side, while Neville covered the other.

The house shook for a third time, and this time, the door wobbled so badly that light came in around the edges of its frame.

A fourth quake, a crash. The door fell out of its frame. In came a man dressed in robes of deep green. A wizard. A man from the SES.

' _Liquefacite!_ ' Harry yelled out. Around him came several more shouted incantations. Jets of light of various colours hit the man from all directions. He was dead before the Organ-Liquefaction Curse could even work its effect, and fell to the ground in a heap.

There was a blinding flash of light, a deafening sound of explosion. Harry was thrown across the room and landed on the floor, momentarily stunned. When he opened his eyes again, the entire front of the house was gone.

' _Avada Kedavra!_ ' came multiple gruff voices. Streaks of green light flew into the room. Harry hugged the floor. He heard a feminine shriek.

The dust in the air was preventing him from seeing anything. ' _Ventus_ ,' he whispered. A gust of wind issued from his wand. The dust was blown away from him and towards the attackers. He heard several swears and fits of coughing as the SES thugs choked on the particulates.

Harry could see clearly now. No less than twenty green-robed wizards and witches stood out on the street, wands in hand and murder on their faces. He did not need to think before casting a Blasting Curse towards a group of three huddled together. The spell exploded above them and rained shrapnel all over their faces and heads. Through the blooded mist, Harry could clearly see three bodies hit the pavement.

An SES brute stepped forward and pointed her wand at a spot to her left – Harry's right. He saw a mass of brown hair near where the witch was aiming. That was the last mistake she would ever make.

' _Oleoarde!_ ' Harry shouted, his instinct to protect Hermione overpowering his spell. A torrent of petroleum drenched her, and the resulting flame was so hot that it burned almost white. The witch shrieked in agony as she was burnt alive to a crisp.

The other thugs were now looking with terrible fear on their faces at their dying companion. A few of them looked as if they wanted to flee, but their leader, a wizard distinguished by the silver stripe running around the chest of his green robes, rid them of those thoughts.

'Stay and fight!' he shouted savagely. 'Fight for Emperor Slytherin! Fight for Regent Voldemort! Forward!'

The surviving witches and wizards, lacking any other strategy, charged forward, firing off Killing Curses left, right, and centre. They were met by a wave of spells from the holdouts. Shrieks and yells came from every direction. Harry did not know from whom, and sincerely hoped it was not Hermione, not Neville or the girls. He could see green-robed thugs fall to the floor in front of them. Blood was beginning to pool.

And then all was still. The spell fire ceased. On the floor of the ruined house and on the street lay the bodies of every witch and wizard sent by the SES. Harry stood up cautiously, Elder Wand still readied.

'Hermione?' he called.

'Harry?' she replied, standing up gingerly. Harry let out a huge breath of relief. She was safe.

'Neville?'

'I'm here,' Neville answered from his right. 'Luna? Daph?'

'Here,' came Daphne's tired voice, but no reply from Luna.

'Luna?' Neville tried again. Nothing.

' _Luna!_ ' Neville shouted. Still no response.

And then, all of a sudden, Hermione gasped. Harry turned to her. Her face was white with shock and contorted into an expression of horror. Her eyes were glazed over, as if in disbelief over something.

'What happened, Hermione?' Harry asked.

'It's…Luna,' Hermione replied, her voice barely above a whisper. 'She's…she's…'

She began to sob. Harry rushed over to her and put an arm around her waist instinctively. It was not until he looked down that he saw it.

Luna was lying spread-eagled on the ground, her wand fallen out of her hand. Her protuberant grey eyes were open wide but unseeing. Her dirty blonde hair was sprawled every which way. Blood was trickling out of an open wound on the back of her head.

Harry knelt down next to her and desperately felt for a pulse. He felt nothing at her neck. He grabbed Luna's wrist. Still nothing. He put his hand on her chest and felt for a heartbeat. There was none.

'No!' Harry yelled. 'No! She can't be!'

Hermione knelt down on Harry's right. She draped one arm over his shoulders and grabbed Luna's wrist with her other. Harry saw her shake her head.

'She can't be dead,' Harry murmured, not wanting to admit it himself. 'Not Luna…Luna wouldn't…couldn't.'

'She's gone, Harry,' Hermione whispered.

Harry wanted to shake his head. He wanted to deny it. He wanted to think it was not true. But Hermione's ashen face, the blank look on Luna's face, the stillness of her heart…it was irrefutable, horrible proof that it was all very much real.

And seeing Luna's cold body somehow stiffened his resolve. He schooled his features, swallowed, and stood up.

Neville and Daphne were standing a distance away, giving Harry space. He turned to them.

'We go,' he said commandingly. 'We'll take her with us…to a suitable place.'

They did not question this time. The two of them nodded and turned back into the kitchen, grabbing two of what Harry presumed were charmed bags. They disappeared into the only other room in the decrepit house. A few minutes later, the two of them returned, a little red in the face and out of breath, rucksacks slung over their shoulders.

Harry threw his own bag onto his back, and Hermione pocketed her beaded bag. 'Where to?' Hermione asked concisely.

'Forest of Dean,' Harry said the first thing he thought of. 'They shouldn't think to look there for us. We can…hide out for a little bit…and decide what to do next.'

Hermione nodded and the other two did not voice any word of protest. Harry gingerly lifted Luna's body onto his back.

'You know where to go?' Hermione asked. Harry nodded. He took Daphne's hand and Hermione took Neville's before both turned in place and disapparated.

* * *

'Your findings, Rosier?' the Dark Lord asked the man kneeling at his feet in front of his throne in Windsor Castle.

'My Lord, the Unspeakables have been working nonstop for the past six months,' Felix Rosier replied. 'They believe that it should be ready in another month.'

The Dark Lord nodded. The work was behind schedule already by more than a month, but he could tolerate the delay. The situation in Russia and Finland was favourable. The hostile muggle Russian government had been topped a week earlier and replaced with a far friendlier one, while his spies in the _Ministerstvo Koldovstva_ were reporting severe infighting between the Mudblood-appeasing wing and the pure-blood wing, with the pure-blood side in the advantage.

'Their progress?'

'It works as you wanted it to, My Lord,' Rosier answered. 'But it still has unpredictable side effects on the user that need to be corrected. It also requires full concentration to use and cannot be repeatedly used in quick succession.'

'Very well,' the Dark Lord said. As long as the project yielded results, it was a success in his book. If the Unspeakables worked out the side effects, then all the better. If not, the Dark Lord had enough curse fodder at his disposal to sacrifice a few of them using the weapon. 'You are dismissed, Rosier. Send in Lestrange.'

Rosier stood up and left the room, and several minutes later, Rabastan Lestrange entered. He obediently knelt at the Dark Lord's feet.

'My Lord. How may I be of service?'

'The operation, Lestrange,' the Dark Lord hissed. 'Where is the boy? Why has he not been brought in front of me?'

Lestrange trembled a little. 'My Lord…the Special Enforcers arrived on the scene an hour ago…they were all slaughtered, My Lord. The Minister, the Malfoys, the Notts, the Carrows. They were all dead.'

The Dark Lord's fury flared. 'The boy killed them?'

'It would appear so, My Lord,' Lestrange replied.

'What about the Mudblood girl?' the Dark Lord demanded.

'She appears to have escaped, too, My Lord.'

The Dark Lord's temper flared again. He would have considered it a victory to just have taken her out of the equation. She was a good half of Potter's strength, he knew. Potter was also most likely intimate with her, and her death would have struck a huge emotional and morale blow on him.

'We have good news, My Lord.'

'Speak.'

'The blood-traitor Weasley boy that we turned managed to cast a Tagging Charm on Potter,' Lestrange said. 'Our alert wards picked him up when he apparated into Londonderry, but we were not fast enough to catch him before he escaped again. We tracked him again, however, to Mallaig, on the western coast of Scotland.'

'There must be a reason he's there,' the Dark Lord mused.

'We believe that is the reason he was there was to find the blood-traitors Longbottom and Greengrass, as well as the half-blood Lovegood,' Lestrange replied. 'We have been looking for them for more than a year, and we've narrowed their location down to somewhere in western Scotland. It fits.'

'You have taken action?'

Lestrange nodded. 'We have sent a full SES platoon to their location. They should be tracking them as we speak using the higher-precision local alert wards.'

'And what if they escape again?' the Dark Lord demanded.

'It will not happen, My Lord.'

'And what if they escape again?' the Dark Lord repeated.

'We have alert wards put up around all towns of seven hundred fifty people or more,' Lestrange replied. The Dark Lord could hear a hint of nervousness in his voice. He inwardly scoffed at the weak man. A part of him could not believe that the Lestranges were the family that Bellatrix had married into.

'They should pick them up if they cross them. But if they apparate to a random location in the wilderness, we have no way of tracking them,' Lestrange was saying. 'Tagging Charms should last anywhere between a day and a week, depending on its strength. Weasley is a pathetic wizard, consistent with his bloodline, so I do not believe that his Tag will last for longer than three days.'

'Send another platoon to Mallaig and monitor all the alert wards with extreme care,' the Dark Lord ordered. 'Do not allow them to get away. If you let this chance to destroy the last remnants of the counter-revolution slip through your fingers, you will be severely punished. Am I clear?'

Lestrange nodded. 'Clear, My Lord.'

* * *

Harry arrived in a familiar clearing. Seven years ago in this very place, a mysterious silver doe had guided him to the Sword of Gryffindor. He did not know who had cast that Patronus, who had placed the Sword there. Even in light of all that had happened in the last six years, this one occurrence had remained one of the greatest unsolved mysteries of his life.

Hermione flung her arms around him and squeezed him tight when she arrived a second later. Her face was still streaked with tears. If Harry could see his own countenance, he was sure it would look quite the same.

Harry and Hermione slowly and respectfully set Luna's body down on the forest floor. Harry leaned in and closed her eyes.

Now she could be sleeping.

'We need to bury her,' Harry declared. Neville began to draw his wand, but Harry stopped him.

'Properly,' he said, holding up his hand. 'Without magic.'

Harry lifted the Elder Wand and conjured a spade. The three others copied him and conjured ones of their own. They selected a suitable spot under two sapling trees and began to dig.

Harry could not see clearly. His vision was clouded and obstructed by tears. Luna…he still could not believe it. Why was the world so cruel to assign such a pure, innocent soul such a terrible fate? Harry's memories drifted back to Shell Cottage more than six years ago. Luna had comforted him then. She had reached him a way that no one – not even Hermione – could. And now she was gone forever.

_Why Luna?_ the thought replayed again and again in Harry's head.

When the grave was dug, all four of them lowered Luna's body together into the grave. They removed the sling around her left arm and folded both arms over her chest. They tried to say a few words, but nothing would come out through their grief. Harry settled for a simple, 'Thank you for everything, Luna,' while the others gave their own brief eulogies.

Hermione conjured a small blanket and laid it over Luna's body. They gently pushed the earth back into the grave, covering Luna's form. Harry looked into her peaceful face for the last time, before tenderly setting down a shovel full of soil on top, obscuring the last of her.

She was truly gone.

Harry searched for a headstone while the rest filled the grave the rest of the way up. He found a small, peculiarly shaped stone that seemed to strike him as quintessentially Luna. He levitated it with his wand over the completed grave and set it down gently where Luna's head lay.

He knelt down in front of the rock and pointed the Elder Wand at its surface. He did not know what to write on Luna's tombstone. What would she want? Harry regretted painfully that he had no answer.

'Neville?'

Neville knelt down next to Harry. 'What is it?'

Harry felt almost ashamed to ask. 'What would Luna want?'

'Let me do it,' Neville muttered. Harry stepped aside and Neville drew his wand, beginning to carefully carve.

Several long minutes later, Neville stood back up. Harry looked down at the grave.

_Luna Lovegood_

_13 February 1981 – 9 August 2004_

_We will meet again, beyond the Veil_

Harry stood and stared at the headstone for minutes that seemingly turned into hours. It was just yesterday when Sirius fell through the Veil at the Ministry and Luna had comforted him in her own remarkable way. It was all just yesterday…

Hermione's hand grasped his and squeezed tight. Harry was glad of the warmth, the anchor that it provided. But nothing, not even her, could fill the cold, bleeding hole in his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really, sincerely, apologize for killing Luna, but I had to kill off a major character to set the mood and make the 'escape' plausible.
> 
> I chose to kill Luna over Daphne for three reasons. First, I like the common fandom characterization of Daphne because she really resembles who I am as a person. She is much easier and far more enjoyable for me to write than Luna.
> 
> Secondly, my version of Luna has changed so much – for obvious reasons – in the years since the war began that she would be incredibly OOC by canon standards, even if she's not too OOC in my AU. That would take the essence of Luna out of the character, and would not do Luna's character justice.
> 
> Finally, I don't think my version of Luna adds too much to the story. As you might have seen, I'm using Daphne's character as a 'master strategist', which is a niche that I think neither Harry nor Hermione, and certainly not Neville, fully fill, even when combined together. This way, everyone brings something to the table. Harry, leadership; Hermione, intellect; Daphne, strategy; Neville, bravery and loyalty.
> 
> So I decided to sacrifice Luna rather than Daphne for the sake of a better story. I'm sorry to all the Luna fans that I decided to do this. I hope you forgive me.
> 
> As always, an enormous thank you to maschl for helping me improve the narrative, plot, and development. Go check out I See No Difference if you have not already!
> 
> Translations for this chapter:
> 
> Russian: Ministerstvo Koldovstva (Министерство Колдовства) = Ministry of Witchcraft


	4. III: Exodus

Harry did not know how long he had been standing by Luna's graveside, but at some point, Hermione had left him. She returned an indescribable amount of time later and tugged on his hand.

'Harry,' she said gently. 'Let's get inside.'

'Inside?' Harry asked dazedly.

'Inside the tent, Harry,' she whispered. 'I brought Bill and Fleur's old tent in my bag.'

Harry nodded absently and followed her guidance. She lifted open the flap and entered, Harry following her. Inside, Neville and Daphne were sat around a table, cups of hot dandelion tea in their hands. Both were looking sullen. He could not imagine how they were feeling, especially Neville. Harry and Hermione had not seen Luna for more than a year, during which the two of them were constantly by her side. If it felt like this for Harry…what would it be like for them?

Harry and Hermione sat down opposite them without a word. They picked up their cups and sipped the bitter concoction in silence. Any amount, any type of warmth was welcome.

'How did they find us?' Neville suddenly asked harshly.

The four of them shared a look. Harry did not know the answer, and it seemed like no one else did, either.

'They might've been staking you out,' Hermione suggested timidly. 'They were right outside of our hideout when we went, too.'

'That's different,' Neville pointed out. 'The traitor might've tracked you in some way through his messages. We haven't received communications of any sort from anyone. They must know we're in the general area from all the times we ran into the SES or the muggle secret police, but that wouldn't allow them to pinpoint our exact location.'

There was another long spell of silence. No one seemed to have any more ideas, and no one seemed too willing to think of them. The tea was refilled two more times before anyone spoke again.

'What now?' Hermione asked tentatively.

'We don't have too many options, do we?' Daphne said. 'Whoever arrives to clean up after the SES will see the whole place bombed and twenty-something of Riddle's lackeys dead.'

'And then?'

'Well, the Death Eaters won't stand for this, will they?' she continued. 'They won't stand for being shown up by a bunch of "blood-traitors" and "Mudbloods". They'll start a country-wide hunt for us if that's what it takes to catch us.'

Hermione blanched. 'Are you…sure?'

'Hermione, I know how they operate,' Daphne said impatiently. 'You know I've seen it first-hand. You know my history. When you two were off with that turncoat Weasley looking for Riddle's trinkets, I was stuck in the Slytherin Dormitories with Parkinson and Nott and Goyle and the rest of them, remember?'

'Sorry, I didn't mean to offend – '

'It's whatever,' Daphne waved her off. 'The point is, we won't be safe anywhere in this country much longer. If we're safe right now, even. And by "this country", I mean everything Riddle controls.'

'Where were the battlelines now?' Neville asked. 'We haven't really gotten any news for weeks.'

'Same as it was a few months ago, I think,' Harry supplied. 'The war with Russia and Finland hasn't been declared yet, but from what's on the television "news", Riddle's amassing forces along the Vistula and Dniester Rivers. And up north on what used to be the Swedish border.'

'So, nothing new?' Neville pressed, sounding almost hopeful.

Hermione shook her head. 'There was a coup d'état in Russia. Almost a carbon copy of what happened here in Britain. An extreme-right party took over and abolished the Duma. They seem to have control over a good fraction of the military, too. They even killed the former president right in the middle of Red Square. The new government seems worryingly sympathetic to Riddle.'

Neville scowled. 'More of Riddle's work?'

Harry nodded. 'Definitely. It's the same playbook as Britain, or France, or Germany, or any other country Riddle's taken over. He bolstered a far-right faction, had them take over the muggle government, then abolish the somewhat democratic ruling structure there.'

'And what's going to happen?'

'War's likely, but other than that, we really don't know,' Harry answered with a grim shrug.

They sipped their tea idly for another several minutes.

'And what do we do?' Hermione asked, steering the conversation back in its original direction.

'We have a good idea of what the Death Eaters will do,' Daphne said, leaning forward and jabbing her finger on the table as if it were some sort of map. 'Whatever we plan has to counter that.'

'So the way I see it, we have two options,' she continued. 'One, we go further underground. Maybe literally. And just try to survive.'

'And two?'

'Two, we leave Britain.' Daphne held up a hand to stifle Neville's protests. 'What good is staying here? All our allies are dead. All our potential allies are dead. Riddle made sure of that with his camps for "undesirables". What's left for us here? There's only…four…of us left now, fighting a war against almost infinite odds. It'd be better for us to try our luck on the continent, or the parts of the world that Riddle hasn't destroyed. Maybe there'll still be those willing to rise up.'

There was a heavy silence as they considered the options that she had just laid out. Harry did not quite like either idea, but he felt that leaving Britain – and possibly finding a new resistance against Riddle – would be more productive than hiding underground, waiting for their deaths.

'I'd rather take option two,' Hermione said.

'Me too,' Harry voiced his opinion.

Neville sighed. 'I wish we didn't…what did Luna die for, then? If we're just going to leave? But…I'd rather do something than wait for them to kill me. Option two.'

'Luna would want this, Neville,' Daphne said. 'She would want us to do what we could to continue the fight.'

'I know you're right, but…it's hard, isn't it?'

'I know,' she murmured. 'But it's the best option we have.'

'So how do we escape?' Harry asked. 'We can't just walk into Heathrow and hop on the next flight to Berlin.'

'We could steal a boat,' Hermione suggested. 'Or a plane.'

'We're being tracked in some way, Hermione,' Harry pointed out. 'If we try to sail across the Channel in a commandeered boat, don't you think it's highly likely that we'd be found out?'

'What else do you suggest, then? Apparate across the Channel?'

Harry looked at her sheepishly. That was indeed the first thought that had come into his mind.

Hermione rolled her eyes at him. 'That'll be even worse. You think Riddle won't know to put up apparition alert wards between Britain and France? We'll probably trip every single one of them if we try a crazy stunt like that.'

'But if they're tracking us somehow, then won't we trip whatever alert wards they have set up anyway?'

Hermione bit her lower lip. 'It's better than smashing through every apparition alert ward and announcing our presence to everyone, even the people who aren't dedicated to tracking us.'

'Either way they'll find us,' Harry muttered dejectedly.

'But there're less risky and more risky ways to escape,' Neville interceded. 'You always tell me I think too much like a wizard, Harry. Well, so does Riddle. He'll expect you to do something stupid like apparate across the Channel. He won't think that you'd use a muggle solution and wouldn't have put many defences in place – if any at all – against that. We're far better off trying to get across the Channel by boat than trying to apparate to France.'

'I concur with Neville and Hermione,' Daphne said. 'Come on, Harry. Two stuck-up pure-bloods are telling you that it's best to be a muggle right now,' she added, seeing Harry's doubtful expression, 'Take our advice, please.'

Harry could see their point. 'You're right,' he conceded. 'I was just being stupid.'

'You weren't being stupid,' Hermione assuaged. 'You just…weren't thinking.'

'Which is being stupid,' Daphne chortled. 'At least you haven't _done_ anything idiotic. Do we go now?'

Hermione looked pensive. 'The SES might be distracted trying to look for us in Scotland right now,' she said. 'If we go now, they might not have the spare resources to track us down. But on the other hand, they might be on higher alert, given we'd already had one close brush with them.'

'And if we wait?'

'We risk getting caught in the time we're spending sitting here, obviously,' Hermione replied. 'But they might let their guard down…which could make it easier to slip out undetected.'

'What if we wait just a little bit?' Harry suggested. 'Maybe we'd get the best of both options…they'll still be spending their resources looking for us, and they might let their guard down a little.'

'I don't know,' Hermione said tentatively. 'A part of me thinks that it doesn't work like that. They won't just abandon their search or lose concentration so quickly. But…you might also be right. If we lay low and don't move for even a day or two, they might think we've slipped back into the shadows and scale back their hunt…'

'What if they track us here?' Neville asked.

Hermione shook her head. 'I don't think so. If they have, they'd already have shown up. SES thugs aren't the type of people to have patience. They'll see a chance to get us and come immediately, just like back in Mallaig.'

'So we'll stay put and lay low for a little while?' Three nods confirmed the plan. Harry rose. 'There's some food in my bag. I'll make us some lunch.'

* * *

'Do you have news for me?' the Dark Lord hissed harshly. From what he could see from the surface of Rabastan Lestrange's mind, he was not going to like the answer.

'My Lord, please forgive me,' Lestrange sputtered, dropping to a knee in front of the Dark Lord. 'They managed to escape again.'

The Dark Lord raised his wand to cast the Cruciatus Curse as punishment for Lestrange's failures, but he stayed his hand. He needed to know more.

'And why were they allowed to escape?' he demanded.

Lestrange audibly gulped. 'The first SES platoon we sent were all killed, My Lord,' he answered. 'We found all twenty-five bodies.'

'They were all dead when the second platoon arrived?'

'Yes, My Lord. And the counter-revolutionaries were already gone.'

The Dark Lord seethed. ' _Crucio!_ ' he hissed, pouring all of his fury into the spell. Lestrange writhed on the floor in front of him, shrieking in pain, for nearly five minutes. Finally, the Dark Lord decided that he had received his proper punishment and lifted the curse.

'Are you still tracking them?' the Dark Lord demanded.

'Y-Yes, M-My Lord,' Lestrange replied shakily. 'The SES are monitoring all the alert wards. So far, we have not found a trace of them.'

'Continue monitoring the alert wards,' the Dark Lord ordered. 'Keep monitoring them for one week. I doubt that we will fail to pick up at least something.'

* * *

Harry and Hermione were sitting outside the tent, keeping watch over the dark, night-time forest. The location, the situation, and the company all combined to fill Harry with a sense of déjà-vu.

They had been here for two days, under some of the strongest protective enchantments that they could put up. But they were still left with a burning sense of unease. There was no guarantee that their location was safe, that they were not compromised, especially given how easily the SES had mysteriously tracked them down to Neville's home the day before.

'We're leaving tomorrow,' Hermione repeated for the hundredth time.

'We are,' Harry responded absently.

Hermione sighed. 'I can't believe it. All these years of war and killing and death…and it still came to this…to running.'

'Well, you said it yourself. What other option do we have?'

Hermione leaned her head against Harry's shoulder. 'I know…and I trust Daph's judgement that we're better off away from here. She's always been the best at this…at grand strategy…out of everyone we know…but I feel…like we're abandoning our home.'

'We'll come back. As long as I live, I'll never stop fighting this war,' Harry swore. He looked over between the two trees that marked Luna's final resting place. 'It's personal. It's not about some Prophecy anymore. It never has been. It's revenge, pure and simple.'

Hermione inhaled. 'It is,' she said in a steely voice. 'For your family and for mine.'

They sat silently for many long minutes, basking in each other's warmth and there-ness.

'This is where I first started falling for you, you know,' Harry murmured. 'All those weeks when it was just you and me in the tent.'

'It's the same for me,' Hermione whispered. She burrowed her head further into Harry's neck. 'I love you, Harry.'

'I love you, Hermione.'

Shortly after the first light of daybreak, the four of them packed up the tent and dismantled the enchantments. Before their departure, they all stood for a long minute in front of Luna's grave, paying their respects. They looked down at the headstone one last time in silence, none of them feeling the need to say anything more, before they turned on the spot and disapparated.

Hermione had decided to target a small harbour to the east of Eastbourne, on the south coast of England, the previous night. She had reasoned that the city was big enough for the group of four to blend in, while being small enough that the SES or muggle secret police would not be looking out on every street corner.

The foursome arrived in a dark alley near their intended target. They each cast a modified Disillusionment Charm on themselves that allowed the four of them, but not other wizards, witches, or muggles, to see each other.

They slowly made their way towards the marina, wands in hand. On several occasions, they passed a group of muggle secret police, but there was not one sighting of the SES. That was nothing out of the ordinary for a small town like this, but somehow, Harry was spooked.

'It's too quiet,' he whispered to Hermione.

Hermione grimaced. 'Let's hope it stays that way.'

They approached the floating piers. It was still early in the day, and the marina was still empty except for a few early risers. The emptiness of the place further added to Harry's unease. He knew that it was irrational, but he could not help but feel like he was being watched, that he had brought them all into a trap.

'This one,' Hermione gestured to a nearby fishing boat. It was a little aged and undermaintained, but it still looked seaworthy. A _Reparo_ from the Elder Wand would probably fix any problems the boat might have, anyway.

Hermione climbed on board, followed by Harry, Daphne, and Neville. The boat rocked a little in the water as they entered. Harry, not used to the sea, felt for a moment like the boat was about to capsize, but luckily, it righted itself almost immediately.

Hermione ducked into the wheelhouse. 'Do any of you know how to captain a boat?' she called.

Harry shook his head. 'Absolutely no idea.' The others murmured similar sentiments.

'Great,' Hermione muttered. 'Uh…I think I can cast some charms. Daphne, help me out, can you? Harry, Neville, check the fuel and the motor and everything.'

Harry and Neville went back out onto the rear deck together. He searched for a few minutes for the fuel tank before he found it. He cast a charm to inspect the level of petrol in the tank and found it to be almost empty. Thankfully, that was a simple issue to rectify. He waved the Elder Wand and magically refuelled the boat using a Refilling Charm.

'Where's the motor on this thing?' Neville asked a minute later.

'You're standing on the trapdoor on top of it, Neville,' Harry replied, sighing. Neville looked down and slapped his forehead at his stupidity. Harry could not help but laugh.

'Shut up, Harry,' Neville said. 'I'm not anywhere near as good at being a muggle as you or Hermione.'

'I don't know if experience has anything to do with that, Neville,' Harry chortled, feeling some levity wash over him. 'It's observational skills you're lacking here.'

Neville gave him the evil eye and unlocked the trapdoor with an Unlocking Charm. He lifted it open and examined it. 'What do I do with it?'

' _Scourgify_ it and then cast a _Reparo_ ,' Harry instructed. 'If it needs any cleaning or maintaining, that should do the trick.'

Neville did as Harry told him and waved his wand a few times, muttering under his breath. 'It looks clean,' he said, standing up. 'And there wasn't anything to repair.'

Harry nodded and the two boys returned to the girls, who were still working on the wheelhouse. 'We've refilled the fuel tank and Neville cleaned the motor a little,' Harry reported. 'How're you doing?'

'Uh…I think we can get it to work,' Hermione replied without looking up, still waving her wand. 'It's complicated. Give us some time.'

Harry and Neville went back out to the rear deck and Harry set down his rucksack. He pulled out one of the rifles that he had looted from the firearms officer two days before. He inspected it for a while. Uncle Vernon had often talked about guns. Harry jogged his long-ago memories. There was a 'safety' that needed to be disabled, he remembered, for the gun to fire. After some examination, he found it. It was off. He quickly flicked it to the 'on' position so that he would not accidentally shoot himself. He pulled the other rifle out of the bag and did the same with it.

Neville picked up one of them and looked down the scope. 'Do you think we'll be in a situation where we'd need these?' he asked curiously. 'We can do magic, can't we?'

Harry shrugged. 'Maybe we could use them if we get into a situation where we can't use magic,' he suggested. 'In any case, it's better to be prepared, isn't it?'

Neville raised an eyebrow. 'You do know _how_ to use one of these, right?'

Harry suddenly felt very stupid. He, in fact, did not know at all how to properly handle a gun, besides not pointing it at anyone he did not want to shoot. He shook his head sheepishly.

'Great,' Neville muttered. 'All we need now is to accidentally shoot ourselves.'

'I think we've done it!' Hermione suddenly called. Harry and Neville dropped the weapons and rushed back inside the wheelhouse.

Hermione tapped her wand at one of the panels and the motor roared to life. 'You've done it!' Harry chirped, throwing his arms around his surprised wife, who gave a small yelp.

'I _think_ we've done it,' she corrected when Harry had let go. 'I'm not sure if it'll hold up…'

'I believe in you,' Harry replied simply. She smiled genuinely in return. It was so great to see her smile…Harry would die to keep that on her face. He literally would.

'And you as well,' he added to Daphne, who looked rather pleased with herself.

'Can you go and untie us from the pier?' Hermione asked. 'Let's get out of here.'

Harry pointed his wand out of the back of the wheelhouse and magically undid the knots binding them to the pier, then nodded to Hermione. She tapped her wand at the console and the boat lurched forward, beginning to pull out of the marina.

The locks out to sea were already open, and Hermione slowly guided the boat through them. It seemed like everything was, for once, going right for them.

It seemed too easy.

And then, Harry saw something that made his blood freeze in his veins. On a jetty directly in front of their moving boat stood at least thirty green-robed SES. Suddenly, Harry felt a warm trickle up his spine. His Disillusionment Charm had faded.

Less than a second later, the first spells began flying in their direction. This was followed by a wave of curses flying at them from all direction. Harry brought up a wall of water in front of the boat with the Elder Wand to intercept the spells, absorbing them but also drenching himself, Hermione, Neville, and Daphne in cold seawater.

They returned fire, resorting to Blasting Curses and the occasional Organ-Liquefaction or petrol-conjuring curse to sow fear and disorder within the SES ranks. Screams of pain rent the air as thugs died by the scores, but the spells kept coming. Harry had to continually raise walls of water to block the incoming attacks, making it difficult for them to fight back and continually soaking them, the water chilling Harry to the bone.

There were more pops of apparition. Harry knew that SES reinforcements had arrived, replenishing their numbers. The spell fire was coming in ever denser waves now, and despite their best efforts, the SES were not retreating.

The boat lurched. Hermione had set the throttle as high as it could go. The bow of the boat flew into the air slightly as they shot forward. Harry raised another wall of water to port side of the boat as they raced through the artificial lagoon towards its exit. The spell fire from the SES picked up as they began to escape, lighting up their seawater shield with flashes of green, red, white, and violet. Around the seawater wall's edges, Neville and Daphne launched Blasting Curse after Blasting Curse towards the jetty. Harry could not hear whether the spells had hit through the chaotic sounds of battle.

Harry could tell that they had passed the jetty when the spell fire began coming from behind the boat. He lowered the shield for a split second to chance a look at the scene behind them. It seemed that Neville and Daphne's spells had done tremendous damage. Out of the thirty-odd SES thugs that had began the battle and their reinforcements, only six remained. There were streams of blood, no doubt from the brutes' mangled remains, flowing down the sides of the jetty, staining the sand red.

Another green jet of light flew in their direction. Harry conjured a cinder block in its path and blocked the curse. He returned fire with a Killing Curse of his own, which the thug tried to sidestep, but ended up tripping right into its path. The witch was hit in the neck and fell backwards onto the bodies of her fellows.

Harry, Neville, and Daphne eliminated the last of the SES opposition with several well-aimed Killing Curses as Hermione sped the boat away from shore. They could leave no one alive to report their movements back to Voldemort. It was not like they would have shown mercy to the murderers, rapists, and torturers, anyway.

The four of them gathered back in the wheelhouse, dried each other off with Drying Charms, then cast Warming Charms to lessen their bone-deep cold. They were well out in the open sea of the English Channel now. Land was disappearing quickly behind them as they left Great Britain behind.

Harry asked the question that he knew they were all thinking. 'How did they find us?'

Three stricken looks and three shrugs gave him the answer that he knew all along.

'Does this mean Riddle knows that we've fled?' Hermione asked, nibbling her lower lip and looking frighteningly pale.

'We killed them all,' Neville said harshly. 'Riddle shouldn't know anything for sure. I think he'll deduce eventually what we're up to, but he won't know anything _exactly_.'

'Not unless we trip some sort of international alert wards on our way to France,' Hermione muttered.

'Not unless we do,' Daphne agreed. 'But we've bought ourselves a little more time. They'll go through the typical stages of Death Eater response. They'll first deny to themselves that they'd lost and keep wasting resources by sending more reinforcements to a battle that has already ended. Then, they'll try to think in circles around the issue of why they lost to a bunch of "blood-traitors" and "Mudbloods". After that, they'll assign blame and punishment. Only when that's done will they think of a way around the problem. And it won't be for a while after that before they actually act.'

Harry nodded. He trusted her analysis of Death Eater behaviour and movements. 'How long do you think?'

'I don't know,' Daphne admitted. 'They seemed to recover pretty quickly after your confrontation with them a few days ago. That's really unusual. Normally, I'd estimate that we'd bought ourselves one or two days. But now…I don't know.'

'Let's assume the usual, then. But remember that France has its own version of the SES – the _Groupes aux Buts Spéciaux_ ,' Hermione pointed out. 'I wouldn't expect them to work seamlessly with their British…counterparts. Riddle's response might be even slower than usual in light of this…disconnect.'

'You're right,' Daphne agreed. 'But let's not assume anything. They've thrown more resources at hunting us than they've ever done. We need to be as careful as ever.'

They remained on guard as they slowly crossed the Channel, sailing to the south-southeast. Harry hoped that they were disguised and hidden among the hundreds of muggle fishing boats working in the sea that morning. With no witnesses left alive back at the marina, the Death Eaters and SES might have a harder time tracking them down.

The cool morning soon gave way to a blazing midday sun. The girls both disappeared into the wheelhouse while Harry joined Neville on the back deck. He was examining once more the rifles Harry had looted.

'Fascinated, are you?' Harry asked, sitting down opposite him.

'You could say that,' Neville chortled. 'These might come in useful, you know. Imagine how an SES idiot or a Death Eater would react to being shot with one of these.'

'They'd just use a Shield Charm to block it,' Harry pointed out. 'That's what we do.'

'Sure, but we have experience fighting against muggle weapons,' Neville rebutted. 'The SES, on the other hand – '

'Are a bunch of arrogant wizards who haven't the slightest clue about anything muggle,' Harry finished.

Neville nodded. 'Exactly. And I'm sure the French ones are the same. And…well…you know how it is. Unless you're prepared with a Shield Charm, you're not going to be fast enough to block muggle weapons.'

'So you think we should learn to use these,' Harry summed up.

'That's right. You've always said we shouldn't rely only on magic, haven't you? And besides, how hard can it be?'

Harry rather thought that it was quite far from the easiest thing in the world to learn an unfamiliar skill that, if it went wrong, could very well kill someone. Neville, apparently, had no such reservations. He had lifted the weapon to his shoulder and was, thankfully, pointing it away from Harry and out to sea.

'You have to flip some switch, don't you?' Neville asked, studying the right side of the rifle.

'It's called a "safety", Neville,' Harry said. 'And yes, you have to flip it for the gun to fire.'

Neville fiddled with the weapon for a few more minutes before finding the switch. Before Harry could stop him or implore him to be careful, Neville had pointed the muzzle back out at sea and squeezed the trigger.

There was a loud bang which rocked the boat. A split second later, there was a splash in the water several metres away. Neville reeled back from the recoil and hit the back of his head on the rear wall of the wheelhouse. Harry suppressed an urge to laugh, quickly grabbed the rifle out of Neville's hands, and flipped the safety back on.

'What the bloody hell?' Hermione shrieked, rushing out of the wheelhouse, followed by Daphne a few seconds later. The girls looked between Harry, still holding the rifle, and Neville, rubbing the back of his head in pain, for a few seconds. Then, they burst out laughing.

'We could've killed ourselves, and you two are laughing?' Harry asked, somewhere between confused and amused.

'You two are _so_ stupid,' Hermione said when she stopped laughing, going into 'lecture mode'. 'You could've shot each other by accident. Couldn't you two…be careful…for once?'

Harry looked at his wife sheepishly. 'Sorry…'

Hermione sighed. 'I heard your arguments, Neville, and I think you're right. But can we not play around with deadly weapons in the middle of the ocean, on an old fishing boat, on which nobody knows what they're doing?'

Harry and Neville nodded. 'We won't,' Harry promised, stashing the rifles in his backpack and following the girls back into the wheelhouse.

* * *

'Explain why you lost one full company of SES killed, Lestrange,' the Dark Lord demanded, seething. He wanted to lift his wand and Cruciate the useless man, and was only managing to hold off that urge for need of information.

'M-My Lord…the alert wards…'

'The alert wards what?'

Lestrange shuddered like the weak man he was. For a pure-blood, the Dark Lord thought, Rabastan Lestrange acted scarily like a pathetic Mudblood. If only Bellatrix had not been killed…

'The alert wards near Eastbourne, My Lord,' Lestrange answered. 'They were…tripped…I sent one full company there to capture the boy…but…the ones that arrived were all killed, My Lord.'

'And how many is that?'

'Forty-three, My Lord.'

'Explain to me how at most five witches and wizards, two of them half-bloods, two of them blood-traitors and one a _Mudblood_ , managed to kill possibly forty-three trained SES officers,' the Dark Lord hissed. 'Have you been recruiting Mudbloods and rabble into the SES, Lestrange?'

'No!' Lestrange yelled. 'No! Never! Mudbloods do not deserve to even touch the robes of the SES, My Lord.'

'I should hope not,' the Dark Lord said, his voice quiet in his cold fury. 'Why, then, were your SES forces killed?'

'They were fighting without cover, My Lord,' Lestrange answered in a trembling voice. 'They were standing on an open pier and…and they were cut down. The Mudblood and blood-traitors resorted to unfair tactics against our forces, My Lord.'

'Why were your wizards unable to fight against those unfair tactics, then, Lestrange? I cannot believe that they are less competent than a lowly Mudblood girl, Lestrange.'

Lestrange shook his head. 'No, My Lord. The Mudblood cannot even be compared with them in the same sentence. The SES had nowhere to retreat, My Lord. On both sides of the pier was water, My Lord. When they counter-revolutionaries began their attack, they had nowhere to retreat to, no cover to get behind.'

'You said that the SES were fighting from a pier, Lestrange?'

Lestrange nodded. 'Yes, My Lord. They were on a pier between the sea and a place where muggles store their boats.'

The Dark Lord stopped cold. _Store their boats?_ Had Potter gone to Eastbourne for a boat to get away from Britain?

'Has the boy crossed any alert wards since?' the Dark Lord asked.

'Yes, My Lord. The wards to the south of Eastbourne tracked him as he left.'

The wards to the south. That would mean the English Channel, if the Dark Lord remembered what he had learned in the muggle school correctly. Suddenly, it all fit. Potter had met with Lovegood, Longbottom, and Greengrass to plot their escape from Britain. That was why they had been in Mallaig. Now, they had infiltrated Eastbourne to steal a boat. They had met the SES on a pier and defeated them. That would mean…

'Get out of my sight, Lestrange,' the Dark Lord hissed. 'And bring me Rookwood.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on translations, since this story will be exploring magical culture and communities in other countries. Obviously, not all of them will speak English. Before I get into any of that, I think I should outline how I plan to deal with and use local languages in my story to avoid confusion down the road.
> 
> 1) Any interactions to the main cast that they are supposed to understand will be in English.
> 
> 2) Any interactions in the presence of the main cast that they are not supposed to understand will be in the local language and local script when possible. Translation will be provided when possible in the A/N.
> 
> 3) Any interactions between characters in foreign countries will be in English, no matter the language they are actually speaking in. Local interjections (i.e. mon Dieu in French, yo-moyo in Russian) will be in the local language and latinized when applicable.
> 
> 4) Any names of local places, institutions, or people will be in English when referred to by the main cast.
> 
> Translations for this chapter:
> 
> French: Groupes aux Buts Spéciaux = Special Purpose Groups


	5. IV: L'Enfant de la Patrie

Hugo Allard walked back down the street to his home in Dieppe. It was truly astounding how much his city had changed in the one-year-or-so since the British occupation had begun. No more were the vibrant markets where local farmers peddled their fresh fruits and vegetables. No more were the lively celebrations for _le quatorze juillet_. The coastal town was now permanently painted in a dead, grey colour scheme.

He had expected his country to resist Regent Voldemort, but thinking back, it was a naïve assumption. His country had collapsed from within long before any of Voldemort's forces even set foot on sacred French soil. Corruption had been a problem in his country for as long as Allard could remember, but in the years before the invasion, this had reached astronomical levels. It was not uncommon, he remembered, for politicians in the Parliament to completely reverse course from socialist to right-wing extremist overnight, or for billions of Francs to disappear into one ministry or another, never to be seen again.

And for those who could not be swayed by riches, there was always fear and the Imperius Curse.

Allard was a wizard. He had heard stories about Voldemort for years from across _la Manche_. He had heard his praises sang by the pure-blood supremacists of Beauxbatons. He had heard the mere alias of _Vous-Savez-Qui_ being uttered in fear. He had heard the ever-quietening battle cries of those who stood up to him.

But these days, Allard kept this part of him, this past, this knowledge, more repressed than ever before.

For Allard's mother and father were _moldus_. He was born in a small town on the right bank of the Meuse. From as young as he could remember, odd things happened around him. The bread on the table would miraculously enlarge when he was famished, or a cheese that he did not like would inexplicably transform into one he did.

Then came his eleventh birthday, and his whole world changed.

Allard often wondered these days whether he would have been better off without any magic at all. His mother and father certainly would have been. He had not seen them for more than a year since he had sent them off to Guadeloupe just one week before Voldemort's invasion. He had not contacted them, either. It was safer for them all to remain anonymous.

His parents had begged Allard to go with them, but he could not. He had to stay and fight for his countrymen. He had grown up in the shadow of Fort Douaumont, on the former battlefields of Verdun. He had grown up with stories of how French soldiers had endured over nine months of siege, and yet still prevailed. Now, it was his turn to serve his country. Now, he had to protect friends, classmates, and total strangers that were in danger from Voldemort's regime.

_Ils ne passeront pas_ , his forefathers had cried at Verdun. And they shall not pass now.

Every day, Allard worked tirelessly to muggle-borns and other persecuted groups and their families out of the country. Eastwards, perhaps, to the unoccupied regions of Europe and on to Asia. Or perhaps to the Francophone parts of North Africa. Others may call him noble, but the way Allard saw it, he was only doing his duty.

His neighbour, an old man named Remi, was lounging in front of his house. In the days before the occupation, Allard may have stopped for a quick chat, perhaps for some coffee, but today, he passed with a simple ' _Bonjour, Remi_ ,' to which the old man smiled stiffly in response.

Allard dropped his bag in front of the fireplace and took out the stack of papers in them. He drew his wand from his pocket and set fire to the documents. If these papers fell into the hands of the GBS or the muggle political police, the lives of over ten people would be at stake. He watched as they burned, only releasing his breath when all that was left was black ash.

He reached into a drawer and dug out a bundle of bills. He pulled a few loose from the rubber band and stuffed them in his wallet. He needed to get some vegetables from the one supermarket that was still legally allowed to operate in his quarter.

Allard arrived at the supermarket to the usual sight of two officers of the political police clad in black uniforms, checking everyone's documents. They were on the lookout for any leaders of the resistance. 'counter-revolutionaries', they called them.

And Allard was one of them. Three of his friends had already been caught. One of them had been thrown in jail. Another had been murdered in his home. The other had disappeared without a trace, and Allard presumed him to be dead.

'Documents,' the officer on the left barked. Allard obediently pulled out his false identification card.

The officer looked it over. 'Marcel Albert?'

Allard nodded. ' _C'est moi_.'

'Is there a Marcel Albert on your list?' the officer asked his companion. The man on the right looked carefully through his booklet before shaking his head.

'Are you sure?' the officer on Allard's left pressed. 'We've never seen a "Marcel Albert" around here.'

'I'm sure,' the other officer said. 'There's no such name on my list.'

The first officer turned back to Allard, scowling and roughly thrusting his card back at him. Allard took it and entered the supermarket without another word. He was not going to stick around and test the officers' intelligence. The scrutiny of his new false ID had already spooked him enough.

Allard did not linger. He grabbed all the essentials that he had come for, hastily paid, and left the store. The political police officer that had scrutinized his documents earlier eyed him suspiciously as he left.

As he walked home, he sang the words of _La Marseillaise_ under his breath. The Voldemort regime had banned that anthem, replacing it with one that glorified him and his new order. But Allard held on to it.

' _Allons enfants de la Patrie, le jour de gloire est arrivé !_

_Contre nous de la tyrannie, l'étendard sanglant est levé,_

_L'étendard sanglant est levé !_

_Entendez-vous dans les campagnes, mugir ce féroces soldats ?_

_Ils viennent jusque dans vos bras, engorger vos filles et vos compagnes !'_

He held on to hope that the France that he had once known and loved would return.

' _Aux armes, citoyens,_

_Formez vos bataillons,_

_Marchons, marchons !_

_Qu'on sang impur,_

_Abreuve nos sillons !'_

* * *

The sun was already beginning to dip to the west when Harry sighted land ahead.

'Look!' Harry breathed excitedly, nudging Hermione and pointing to in front of the boat.

Hermione squinted a little, then her eyes grew wide in excitement. She looked back down at her charts, then at the compass on the console, then back at her charts, and finally, at Harry with a radiant expression on her face.

'That's France!' she shrieked, throwing her arms around Harry's neck. 'We're there!'

'Not yet,' Harry muttered. 'We're still pretty far away.'

Hermione laughed for the first time in a long time before kissing Harry excitedly on the lips. 'Almost there, then,' she corrected herself with a grin.

Harry could not suppress his excitement as the French coast came ever closer. They had somehow managed it. They had gotten past all of Voldemort's defences around Britain and made it to the continent. The realist in him knew that this was just the beginning. Even in France, they were not safe. Voldemort was still in control here. There was the GBS, who were just as brutal as the SES back home. But it was a small victory, one that Harry would be loathe not to celebrate.

The French coastline came clearer into focus. They were heading for the outskirts of a small city. Harry could see a pebble beach up ahead, behind which stood rows of low buildings and narrow streets.

'How're we going to get on shore?' Neville asked. 'We can't just pull up on the beach.'

'I'll sink the boat,' Daphne replied. 'You three apparate onto the shore. I'll meet you there.'

Harry looked at her apprehensively. 'Sink the boat?'

'Yes, sink the boat. You don't fancy them discovering how we escaped, do you?' Daphne asked rhetorically. 'It'll be easy. A Reductor Curse should blow a hole in the bottom of the boat. It'll sink slowly, and I'll have time to apparate to shore.'

Hermione looked out at the town. 'We'll apparate to that little forest over there to the right,' she decided, pointing to where she was referring to. 'Let's go now, before we get too close. I'll cut the motor.'

Hermione tapped her wand on the console a few times and the boat fell silent, stopping in the water. Daphne went out to the rear of the boat and pointed her wand at the deck.

' _Diffindo_ ,' she muttered, moving her wand in a circle. A roughly circular piece of steel was cut from the top deck and fell with a clang into the space below.

'Go,' Daphne ordered. 'I'm going to destroy the boat right afterwards. See you soon.'

Hermione grabbed Harry's and Neville's hands and turned on the spot. Seconds later, they reappeared in the forest that Hermione had indicated from the boat. Harry was quite glad to be back on solid ground again.

Barely a minute later, Daphne appeared several metres away. Harry, Hermione, and Neville rushed to her.

'All good?' Neville asked.

'All good,' Daphne confirmed, smiling a little. 'The boat should be sinking now. I blew a huge hole in the bottom.'

'Good work,' Neville complimented.

'Why, thank you, Neville. Let's go?'

'No, wait,' Hermione said. 'We need to disguise ourselves. Cosmetic charms.'

Several minutes later, they were finally ready to go. Neville had been given a beard and moustache, which he seemed to like a little too much, and his hair had been turned dark brown. Daphne had been given lighter brown hair which curled a little. Hermione, meanwhile, had been turned into a straight-haired blonde.

'You make a very pretty blonde, you know? But I still like your natural hair better,' Harry admitted as he examined Hermione's new look.

'Same for you,' Hermione quipped. 'Nothing against dirty-blond Harry, but your original hair is so much more _you_. The blue eyes really kill the sex appeal, though.'

'That's encouraging,' Harry muttered. He leaned into Hermione's ear. 'I can always reverse it tonight,' he whispered.

Hermione laughed again, blushing a little. 'I'd like that,' she replied.

The foursome made their way down the slight slope into the town. The road sign told them that they were in Dieppe. Before the war, this place might have been a serene coastal town, but now, the place had an air of pure misery and resignation to it. Many houses and businesses had their windows boarded up, the road was covered in potholes, and the locals all wore a similar sullen and downcast expression on their faces as they walked, hunched backed, down the cobblestone streets.

'We'll need to find somewhere to stay,' Hermione said. 'A base of operations.'

They searched for half an hour for a suitable place. Eventually, they found an abandoned, boarded-up house on one of the narrow side streets. It seemed perfectly suited. It looked spacious enough to accommodate the four of them and was well enough away from the main thoroughfares to hopefully not attract too much attention.

Harry unlocked the door with an _Alohomora_ and the four of them stepped inside. On first inspection, the house appeared not to have been abandoned for very long. The furnishings were all in good shape, if a little worn-out and covered in a thin layer of dust. Harry flipped a light switch and a dim light bulb lit up on the ceiling. That still worked, too.

'I think we've found a suitable place,' Harry decided.

'Looks usable,' Hermione agreed. 'Should we put up some kind of protection?'

'Not sure if it's a great idea,' Daphne replied. 'If the French SES people really are searching for us, the first thing they'll look for are signs of fixed magic. It's the same as back in Britain. I don't think we should put up any magical protection. That doesn't mean that – '

'We can't put up muggle means of protection,' Hermione finished. 'Broken glass on the floors, cans, maybe some easily defensible positions.'

'Exactly. Let's put our stuff down and make this place fit for habitation before we worry about that, though.'

The four of them waved their wands a few times, and the dust covering the furniture and floors were magically vanished. The cobwebs were disappeared, and the place was restored to pristine condition.

There was an open doorway leading to the kitchen to their left and two other doors, as well as a short corridor, off to the right of the main living space. Harry opened one to find a decently sized master bedroom.

'I claim this,' he called.

'You've literally seen one room,' Hermione huffed. 'And that's the first thing you think of doing? You're such a child.'

'I'm allowed to be a kid from time to time, am I not?' Harry quirked, his good mood still not one bit deflated.

'Yeah, well, just cast a _Muffliato_ on your door at night,' Neville ribbed. 'The rest of us don't need to hear what you and Hermione get up to.'

Harry snorted. 'Like you all weren't going at it like rabbits in Mallaig.'

Neville blushed a deep scarlet. 'Uh…we…uh…don't…'

'Sure, Neville,' Hermione joined in the ribbing. 'Sure.'

Harry could not help but laugh out loud at Neville's supremely embarrassed look. He turned back to explore the rest of the house, saving Neville from yet more embarrassment. There was a washroom, a small study, and another bedroom. With each room he entered, Harry cast several housekeeping spells, removing the dust and restoring the place to its original conditions.

Thankfully, the two bedrooms were the rooms farthest away from each other.

* * *

'Rookwood, what is your report?'

'The GBS in France is actively looking for the escapees, My Lord,' Rookwood replied. 'The muggle secret police are on the lookout as well.'

The Dark Lord nodded. 'And the results?'

'Nothing so far, My Lord. I have instructed the GBS to deploy extra forces to the northern coast of France and Belgium.'

'You have not picked up any sign of them on the alert wards in France?' the Dark Lord demanded impatiently.

Rookwood shook his head. 'The wards have caught nothing, My Lord. Either the boy has been actively avoiding cities and towns, or…or…'

'Or what?' the Dark Lord hissed.

'Or the French alert wards are not picking up a British Tag.'

'Is that possible?'

Rookwood paused for a few long moments thinking. 'It could be, My Lord,' he finally replied. 'The wards in France were set using French patterns. The differences are slight, but they may be enough to allow a British Tag to slip through.'

'Then modify the wards,' the Dark Lord snapped.

'We cannot modify them fast enough, My Lord. Not without narrowing down where the approximately boy is. There is no practical way tens of thousands of wards can be re-built in the span of several days.'

The Dark Lord sat in pensive silence. This was not good. If Potter were to escape from the areas under his rule, he may never get a chance to bait him into a direct confrontation again. But he knew that Rookwood was right. There was no way to track him now, if it was truly a result of the differences between the French and British ward schemes at play. That left only one option.

'Close all borders in and out of France,' the Dark Lord ordered. 'Stop any and all muggle transport. Send the GBS and the secret police to lock down every large town. If anyone steps out of their homes, they are to be killed immediately.'

Rookwood looked apprehensive. 'My Lord, are the measures not…harsh?'

'Are you worried about the welfare of common muggles?' the Dark Lord accused.

Rookwood shook his head emphatically. 'Not at all, My Lord, but this would surely lead to unrest.'

'The secret police are there for a reason, Rookwood,' the Dark Lord said. 'Allow them to deal with any…disturbances. Preventing the boy from escaping is of far greater importance.'

Rookwood nodded. 'I shall do as you ask, My Lord.'

* * *

'Come on, Neville, now's not the time for sightseeing.'

'I don't see what's wrong with stopping for a minute to admire the scenery,' Neville huffed. 'You're talking to a bloke who's barely been out of the house for the last year.'

'Neither have I, but we're supposed to be on a mission,' Daphne hissed.

'In France.'

'Same difference.'

'We're supposed to be posing as tourists.'

'Doesn't mean you have to act like one constantly.'

Neville rolled his eyes but reluctantly tore them away from the view of the sea. Daphne had to admit that it was quite beautiful, regardless of whatever was going on immediately around them.

'Where do we go, then?' Neville asked.

'Well, we're supposed to be scouting out the town centre,' Daphne deadpanned. 'So how about we go to the _town centre_?'

The two of them made their way down the winding streets into the centre of the ancient town. Through the gaps in the buildings, Daphne could see the rolling hills of the French countryside beyond the town. But instead of the lush, green hue of summer, the hills were instead coloured by a drab, unhealthy-looking yellow.

Harry and Hermione were out there somewhere. They were supposed to be scouting the outskirts of the town for the movements of the GBS or the French secret police. So far, in the day that they had been here, there had been no sighting of either. Perhaps whatever tracking magic Voldemort was using was incompatible with the enchantments here in France. Or perhaps they were simply out of range.

The centre of town was a similar story as the outskirts. Windows and storefronts were boarded up. Public parks and squares were in derelict condition and covered in graffiti. There was not a single dementor in sight, but it seemed like all the happiness had been sucked out of the little town all the same.

'What's that up ahead?' Neville said suddenly, stopping short.

Daphne followed Neville's gaze. A few streets in front of them stood an enormous queue of people. Many of them were carrying shopping bags and waiting impatiently, tapping their feet or fiddling with their hands. Not one person, however, was talking to anyone else.

'We should investigate,' Daphne decided.

She and Neville cast Disillusionment Charms on themselves and made their way slowly up the street. The queue stretched across several intersections, but the sight remained the same. None were interacting with each other, and all seemed to bear a resigned, sullen expression on their faces.

'I think we've found them,' Neville muttered, pulling Daphne to a stop. She looked in front and to her left. There, at the entrance to what must have been a supermarket, were two men, clad in black, who were checking everyone's documents before they entered. With every customer, it was the same procedure. The man on the left would check his or her identification card, and the man on the right would verify that against a list of what Daphne had to assume were people who were known to be against Voldemort's regime.

They watched the scene for the next few hours, looking out for any movements. Most people were let through with a single look of their identification card, but on several occasions, the officers verified the documents more carefully, checking them several times against the list, before letting them through.

About an hour into their watch, two new officers arrived and replaced the ones on duty. Daphne looked down at her watch. It was two minutes after twelve. She mentally noted down the time. The officers' shifts changed at twelve. That could be important information.

There was nothing out of the ordinary for the next hour as shoppers continued to be let through after a check of their documents. Then, Daphne spotted something unusual. Among the masses of the hunched backed and depressed stood one man with his back straight and head held high.

'Keep an eye on him,' Daphne breathed to Neville, gesturing at the tall, dark-haired man. 'He might be someone noteworthy.'

They watched with rapt attention as the queue slowly crept forward. Soon, it was the man's turn. Daphne watched as he confidently handed over his identification card. The officer on the left scrutinized it for longer than usual. He turned to his fellow on the right and said a few things that she could not catch. He turned back to the man, then looked at his identification card again before looking back at his companion. Daphne could tell that something was wrong. She slid her wand out of her pocket, ready to spring into action. Next to her, Neville was doing the same.

' _Tu t'appelles comment ?_ ' the officer on the left demanded loudly.

' _Marcel Albert_ ,' the man replied, sounding impatient.

The officer turned back to his companion and muttered a few words. The man – Albert – was trying to keep a stoic and impassive face, but Daphne could tell by his rapidly paling countenance that he, too, knew that he was in danger.

' _Ce n'est pas vrai, bordel !_ ' the officer shouted suddenly. ' _Tu n'es pas « Marcel Albert » ! « Marcel Albert » n'existe pas, merde de bordel ! Putain, tu es Allard !_ _Nous avons Hugo Allard !_ '

' _Je ne sais pas un « Allard »,_ ' the man protested, his face betraying his fear. ' _C'est ma carte d'identité, putain de merde ! Ça dit que je m'appelle Marcel Albert – '_

' _Et c'est faux !_ ' the officer spat. ' _Il n'y a pas un « Marcel Albert » dans tout le pays._ _« Marcel Albert » …va te faire foutre, bordel. Martin, arrête-le !'_

The officers' hands shot to their gun holsters, but Neville and Daphne were prepared, and they were faster.

' _Imperio!_ ' both hissed, pointing their wands at the officers. Instantly, the two men's expressions grew blank. Daphne ordered the officer on the right to stand down and mutter an explanation to Albert – or Allard – that he had been misidentified.

The man looked confused at the officers' sudden change in attitude, but if he was curious, he did not show it. Without loitering for a second more than necessary, he stepped through between the officers and entered the store.

'We need to Obliviate them,' Neville said. 'The officers. That Albert…or Allard…must be someone they're looking for. They can't remember that they'd seen him.'

'Good thinking,' Daphne said approvingly. 'You take the one on the left.'

The two of them pointed their wands at the officers that they had just Imperiused. ' _Obliviate,_ ' Daphne whispered, satisfied when the officer's eyes grew wide and his face went blank.

It was only several minutes later when the man re-emerged from the supermarket, a bag in hand. He took a cautious glance at the still-Imperiused secret police officers, then hastily crossed the street and began scurrying quickly away.

'Let's follow him,' Neville said.

Daphne stared at him. 'Are you sure? It could be dangerous.'

'If the secret police want him this badly, then there's a good chance he's someone who's been making trouble for Riddle's regime,' Neville reasoned. 'He might be able to help us. It wouldn't hurt. Come on, before he gets away.'

Neville charged ahead after the man, and Daphne followed him, still feeling a little unsure about his plan. She knew that he had a point, but she would have exercised a little more caution before committing to something like this on a whim. _Gryffindors_ , she thought to herself.

They turned down several side streets after the man, following him closely enough so that he could not disappear, but far enough so that their footsteps could not be heard. Finally, the man turned in in front of a nondescript house and stepped up to the front door.

The man fished around his pocket for something, turning briefly away from Daphne and Neville. She presumed that he was looking for his key and thought nothing of it.

And suddenly, Daphne felt a warm, obviously magical wave wash over her. She barely had time to turn to Neville and ask him if he had felt the same when the man suddenly wheeled around and pointed his wand in their direction.

' _Qui es-tu ?_ ' he barked. ' _Je sais que tu es là ! Je sais que tu es magique !_ _Révèle-toi ou j'attaquerai !_ '

Daphne did not catch much of the French, but she understood that by the tone of the man's voice that they were found out. He was obviously a wizard, and he knew that they were magicals, too. She looked over at Neville, asking silently what they should do.

Neville took a deep breath. 'Cancel the Disillusionment Charms.'

'Are you insane?'

Neville shook his head. 'If the worst happens, we're still two against one. It's a risk I'm willing to take. Think about it, Daph. This man is obviously an enemy of Riddle's regime. Even if he's not on technically our side – '

'The enemy of our enemy is our friend,' Daphne finished.

Neville nodded. 'Exactly.'

He raised his wand to his temple and tapped it once, dispelling the Disillusionment Charm on him. Daphne copied him a second later. The moment she cast the counter-charm, she returned her wand to 'combat position', preparing for a fight.

The man saw the two wands pointing at him and raised his own higher. ' _Vous êtes ici pour me tuer ?_ ' he demanded.

Daphne and Neville shared a nervous look, unsure of how to respond. Neither of them was fluent in French, and they did not want to say something wrong and end up getting into an unnecessary fight.

' _Vous n'êtes pas français ?_ ' the man asked, sounding as confused as them now.

'English,' Daphne replied, hoping that answered the man's question.

' _Anglais ?_ ' The man briefly lowered his wand slightly before raising it once more, pointing it directly between Daphne's eyes. 'Why are you here?' the man demanded in slightly accented English. 'You are here to kill me?'

'No,' Neville answered quickly. 'We're not. Not unless you attack us first.'

The man's eyes narrowed. 'You are not Voldemort's?'

'We are not,' Neville replied. 'Are you?'

The man sneered. 'Do not associate me with that… _bête_.'

There was an awkward pause as the three continued to eye each other suspiciously, wands trained at each other. The Frenchman broke the silence.

'It was you,' he said. 'You used _l'Imperium_ on the political police.'

'We used the Imperius Curse, yes,' Daphne confirmed.

'So you are against them.'

Neville and Daphne both nodded.

Slowly, the French man lowered his wand and stowed it back in his pocket. Neville and Daphne mirrored him a few seconds later, caution thrown to the wind as curiosity over the man's identity and intentions overtook them.

'Come inside,' the man said in an attempt at a gracious voice. He dug his key out of his pocket and unlocked his front door. Neville and Daphne exchanged a nervous look, but seeing no better option, gingerly followed the man into his house.

* * *

'That should be the main road,' Hermione whispered, looking down at a map of the area. 'Come on, let's find a good overlook position.'

After a few minutes of searching, Harry and Hermione decided on a tall tree to set up their lookout. The two of them, under Disillusionment Charms, climbed onto one of the lower boughs and made themselves as comfortable as they could.

'Look out for any movements,' Hermione said. 'If there're any GBS or secret police coming, note down where they're heading.'

They sat together in tense silence, watching the empty road. Occasionally, a car would drive past them, on the way into or out of the city. All else, though, seemed quiet.

'Do you think they really have no idea we're here?' Harry asked after an hour or so.

Hermione nibbled her lower lip. 'I think that they'd have some idea. _Someone_ must've put two and two together and realized that we had left Britain. But as for right here…I really doubt it.'

They returned to their silent watch, occasionally broken by snippets of talk that never managed to grow into a real conversation. They ate a lunch of sandwiches that they had purchased from a local store. It had been a long time since they had last walked into a store and freely bought something, and it had felt to Harry like some kind of liberating experience.

The summer afternoon sun blazed down on them, and if not for the shade of the upper branches and the cooling charms, Harry would have been parched. Still nothing of note happened besides a few passing tractors being driven by the local farmers.

And then, all of a sudden, around three in the afternoon, something did happen.

'Bloody hell,' Hermione swore, pointing off to the road a distance away. 'What's going on?'

Harry's gaze followed her pointer finger. He could make out through the leaves and branches several large vehicles, painted completely in black. They were approaching fast, kicking up a cloud of dust as they came.

'What is that?' Harry gasped.

Hermione gulped audibly, her countenance paling. 'It might be…the secret police…or the GBS…or even Riddle's army. Our Disillusionment Charms are still active, right?'

Just to be safe, Harry re-cast the Charm on both of them, rendering them invisible to anyone but themselves. He watched through the gaps in the foliage as the convoy approached. As they came closer, Harry could begin making out the vehicles. They resembled the armoured cars that the secret police back in Britain used. He turned to Hermione with wide eyes.

'Did they find us?' he whispered nervously.

'I don't know!' Hermione replied, sounding panicked. 'Maybe…maybe Riddle's locking down the coast just to be safe…fuck! What do we do? Do we attack them?'

'Then they'll know we're here,' Harry reasoned, not liking what his conclusion one bit. 'Or they'll blame it on the muggles and…well, I don't even want to think about it.'

Hermione swallowed. 'No, I don't want to think about it either…what do we do, then?'

'Are we sure it's the secret police?'

'You're the one who said it was.'

'I'm not certain,' Harry replied, secretly hoping that he was wrong. 'It could be just…just…'

Hermione looked at him incredulously. 'Who'd drive around in a convoy of black armoured cars? Harry, something's happening. We have to warn Neville and Daph.'

'We need to figure out how many are there first,' Harry said firmly, thinking up a plan. 'Otherwise, all we'll have to go off of are assumptions. We need to let them pass.'

Hermione looked at him unsurely but nodded. The two of them turned their eyes back to the road. The rumble of engines grew ever louder as the convoy approached.

The first armoured car passed under their tree. It had the marking ' _Police Politique_ ' on its side. From his limited knowledge of French, he knew that that translated to 'Political Police'. His hunch had been proven right.

Another car passed, then another, followed by another. In all, Harry counted six. He did the math in his head. If each vehicle held eight officers, like the ones in Britain did, then forty-eight secret police officers were heading into their town.

'Forty-eight,' Hermione muttered. 'Did you count the same?'

Harry nodded. 'Forty-eight. Now what?'

'We go warn Neville and Daph,' Hermione replied. 'We need to find the before they get caught off guard and…something…'

Harry nodded grimly. He grabbed Hermione's hand, and the two of them turned and disapparated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will only be giving translations for terms and phrases that are not defined through the course of the chapter. Terms such as police politique or la Manche, therefore, will not be translated in the A/N. I will also not be explicitly translating filthy language, because I don't need your foreign language teachers blaming me for teaching you how to cuss.
> 
> For those of you curious, 'Marcel Albert' was a real person. He was a World War II French fighter ace who fought with Free French forces on the Eastern Front against the Luftwaffe. He was awarded the Grand-Croix de la Legion d'Honneur from France as well as the Hero of the Soviet Union for his bravery.
> 
> Thank you to maschl for correcting my train-wreck French. Check out his stories Too Many Champions and I See No Difference if you have not already!
> 
> Translations for this chapter:
> 
> French:
> 
> If you want the translation for the lyrics of La Marseillaise, just Google them.
> 
> Tu t'appelles comment ? = What is your name?
> 
> Ce n'est pas vrai, bordel ! Tu n'es pas « Marcel Albert » ! « Marcel Albert » n'existe pas, merde de bordel ! Putain, tu es Allard ! Nous avons Hugo Allard ! = That is not true, [swear]! You are not 'Marcel Albert'! 'Marcel Albert' does not exist, [swear]! [Swear], you are Allard! We have Hugo Allard!
> 
> Je ne sais pas un « Allard ». C'est ma carte d'identité, putain de merde ! Ça dit que je m'appelle Marcel Albert – = I do not know an 'Allard'. This is my identity card, you [swear]! It says here that my name is Marcel Albert –
> 
> Et c'est faux ! Il n'y a pas un « Marcel Albert » dans tout le pays. « Marcel Albert » … va te faire foutre, bordel. Martin, arrête-le ! = And it is false! There is no 'Marcel Albert' in the whole country. Marcel Albert…go [use your imagination here], [swear]. Martin, arrest him!
> 
> Qui es-tu ? Je sais que tu es là ! Je sais que tu es magique ! Révèle-toi ou j'attaquerai ! = Who are you? I know you are there! I know that you are magical! Reveal yourself or I will attack!
> 
> Vous êtes ici pour me tuer ? = Are you here to kill me?
> 
> Vous n'êtes pas français ? = You are not French?


	6. V: Ces Féroces Soldats

Daphne followed the man into the house, and Neville followed her, closing the door behind him. The interior appeared dingy and unkempt. It almost reminded Neville of the hole he, Daphne, and Luna had lived out of for the past year. It was clear that the man – Albert or Allard or whatever his name was – had very little means or time to improve his living condition. Or perhaps both.

' _Un café?_ ' the man asked, reaching into a cupboard and pulling out a jar of instant coffee.

'That would be welcome,' Neville replied. 'Thank you.'

' _Je t'en prie_ ,' the man said, dumping a spoonful of the powder into three cups and pouring on top some hot water. He slid one each to Neville and Daphne.

'So you are English, _oui_?'

Daphne nodded. 'Yes, Monsieur…'

'Allard. Hugo Allard,' the man said.

'Is "Marcel Albert" a false name, Monsieur Allard?'

'Hugo, _s'il te plait_ ,' Allard said. 'You are against Voldemort. I am against Voldemort. There is no need for formality among _camarades_. And yes, Marcel Albert is my _nom de guerre_.'

'Hugo, then,' Neville replied, sticking out his hand. Hugo shook it. His eyes widened when he studied Neville more closely.

'You are Neville Longbottom,' he breathed in recognition. He turned to Daphne. 'And you must be…'

'Daphne Greengrass, at your service,' Daphne replied with a cheeky curtsey.

Hugo looked Neville in the eyes. 'It is an honour to meet you, _Monsieur et Mademoiselle_. And do you know Harry Potter and Hermione? Are they alive?'

'They are alive and in France with us,' Neville answered, seeing no reason to conceal now that Hugo had recognized them both anyway. 'They're doing reconnaissance in the countryside around the city.'

'I know all their movements. I can simply tell you,' Hugo said. 'That is part of my job to evade them. I help smuggle the people they persecute out of the country.'

'What do you know about them?' Neville pressed, knowing that this was valuable information.

'There are two groups you need to be careful of. There is the _police politique_. You have already seen them. They stand guard outside the supermarket and check the IDs. They enforce the _moldus_. I think the term you use in England is "muggle". The other we call GBS. _Groupes aux Buts Spéciaux_. They are wizards. You need to be more careful with them. They are far more brutal than the _police politique_.'

'It's the same in England,' Daphne said. 'They're called SES there.'

' _Oui_. From what I heard, Voldemort has set them up everywhere he is in control. In _l'Allemagne_ , I know they call them _spezielle Aktionsgruppen_. Back to the point, there are usually about twenty or so _police politique_ at any time in this town,' Hugo said darkly. 'Some of them enforce the identification checks. Some of them patrol. Some of them monitor our movements. As for the GBS, it depends. Sometimes there are none here, sometimes there are two or three.'

'Do you know their movement patterns or schedule?' Daphne asked.

Hugo shook his head sadly. ' _Non,_ there is nothing fixed. Every day, things change. Keeps us guessing, keeps us from figuring them out and resisting.'

Neville exchanged a look with Daphne. Their observation of the changing supermarket guard at noon was useless, then.

'Why is it that you have come to France?' Hugo asked suddenly.

'We were being tracked somehow in Britain,' Daphne answered tentatively. 'I don't know how, but the SES seemed to know our movements. One of our friends got killed because of it. We had no choice. It was either leave Britain or wait to be killed.'

Hugo raised an eyebrow. 'And you have not been tracked in France?'

Daphne and Neville both shook their heads. 'No. Not yet, at least. We've only been here for about a day.'

' _Les GBS_ will not wait that long,' Hugo said. 'They do not plan; they do not wait. When they find out about something, no matter what it is, how insignificant it is, they will act on it immediately.'

'So you think we're not being tracked?' Daphne summed up.

'It is very unlikely,' Hugo affirmed, his eyes lighting up. 'I do not know if you understand how good of news that is.'

'Pardon?'

'They have lost track of you across _la Manche_. English Channel,' Hugo elaborated. 'That means Voldemort's forces are not as coordinated as they appear. We have suspected, of course, but this is proof. And that is good for us.'

'How so?' Neville asked, curious.

'I have said that my...work…to smuggle those that Voldemort targets out of the country?'

Neville and Daphne nodded.

'Then disorganization is good,' Hugo continued. 'The people that I help leave France stand a good chance of getting through Germany and Spain to safety if the GBS or its counterparts in other occupied countries cannot work together.'

'Can we help you?' Neville asked immediately. 'If you're helping send people to safety, then I want to be involved.'

Hugo shook his head. 'I do not think you can, Monsieur Longbottom. The network has endured many blows. Those who remain trust very few outsiders. Even knowing who you are, Monsieur Longbottom, there is little chance that the rest of the resistance network will trust you.'

Neville nodded, slightly disappointed but perfectly understanding. If they were back in Britain, Neville could not see himself trusting anyone fully, even if they were as clearly devoted to the anti-Voldemort cause as he was.

'Do you intend to stay in France, _Monsieur et Mademoiselle_?' Hugo asked.

Neville contemplated that question. On one hand, he wanted to help the French in their fight against Voldemort, but on the other, it was obvious that the resistance, even if stronger than it was in Britain, could not hope to overturn Voldemort's regime. They would have look elsewhere for more powerful allies, a thought that pained him to even consider.

'You do not need to tell me,' Hugo chuckled. 'You only arrived yesterday, and only met me an hour ago at most. You do not need to commit to anything.'

Neville opened his mouth to say what he was thinking, but at that very moment, a silver ball of light flew through the wall of the kitchen and materialized into an otter.

' _Return immediately_ ,' it spoke in Hermione's voice. ' _Secret police reinforcements arriving from south_.'

Hugo stared at the Patronus with wide eyes. 'Who…'

'Hermione Granger,' Daphne answered shortly. She shot a look at Neville, asking silently, _What do we do?_

'You need to return,' Hugo said, tension audible in his voice, his wand shooting into his hand. 'Do not stay here and be caught out. The _police politique_ can be barbaric in its methods.'

Neville looked at Hugo. 'But – '

'I can take care of myself,' Hugo interjected, clearly putting forced confidence into his voice. 'Go. If the _police politique_ is here, it will be you who will be in more danger, not me. Go! Now!'

Hugo shooed them towards the door. The moment that Neville crossed the threshold, before he could even bid Hugo farewell, Daphne grabbed his hand and turned on the spot to disapparate.

They reappeared a second later in the lounge of their commandeered house. The electric lights were all off, the only source of illumination being two glowing wand tips near the door and singular window.

'Harry? Hermione?'

'Neville? Daph? _Lumos maxima!_ '

The whole room was lit up by Harry's spell. Neville saw him and Hermione hugging the wall near the door, no doubt listening for any movements outside. Both were deathly white in the face and gripping their wands tightly.

'What's going on?' Daphne demanded.

'We were watching the road and saw secret police reinforcements arrive in their armoured cars,' Hermione summarized, her voice shaking a little. 'We approximated that there were at least forty of them coming in. Did you see any movements in the town?'

Neville shook his head. 'No, nothing out of the ordinary. We did see something, though. We'll tell you later. What do we do now?'

'We don't know what they're here for,' Harry replied. 'It could be for us, or it could be for something completely unrelated.'

'Shouldn't we just get out of here, then?' Neville asked forcefully.

'We could…but we could get end up somewhere even worse,' Hermione reasoned. 'We don't know the situation here in France. What if we trip an alert ward apparating? What if we arrive in a town that's fully occupied by the GBS? And besides, we could get…valuable information…out of this.'

'You want to find out how they operate,' Daphne said, seemingly understanding.

Hermione nodded. 'Yes. We don't know if they're the same as the SES or secret police back in England. That's something we should find out, isn't it?'

The four of them took up their positions implicitly and without command. Harry cast a Supersensory Charm on himself and Hermione as they listened carefully through the gaps in the boarded-up windows. Neville and Daphne took defensive positions further back behind a sofa, wands trained in the direction of the only possible entrances, and waited.

* * *

Hermione waved her wand, extinguishing Harry's _Lumos Maxima_ , and the whole room was plunged into near-black darkness, the only light being that shining through the cracks in the window boards through which she and Harry were listening for any sign of movement on the street outside. The room was so silent that he could hear Harry's heart beating quickly in her chest. She could only make out the outline of his face. Neville and Daphne were there somewhere, but she could not see them at all.

There was nothing. Even with the Supersensory Charm, she could not pick up any movement except for the occasional rustling of leaves with a slight summer breeze. The atmosphere inside the room grew stifling with anticipation.

Out of the blue, there was a flurry of activity. Hermione could hear clearly the sound of car doors slamming in the distance, of boots hitting the ground, of guns being loaded and chambered. There was indiscernible shouting in French that Hermione could only pick up snippets of, even with some competency in the language. She knew that that someone was giving orders, but she did not know what those orders were.

And suddenly, Hermione could hear several of those footsteps grow louder. They were coming in their direction. She heard Harry inhale. Her Supersensory Charm-enhanced senses told her that the secret police officers were advancing down their street.

Hermione began picking up more of their chatter, now, as they got closer. She could make out one officer saying something about how 'no one leaves', followed by an order to stand guard somewhere. She pieced the fragments of the puzzle together in her head.

'They must know we're in the city…or at least in the country,' she whispered nervously. 'They're closing down the entire city to keep us trapped here.'

Three sharp inhales. 'Did they say anything else?' Daphne whispered back.

'Nothing except what Hermione said,' Harry replied. 'I think I heard two or three of them coming down the street. Hermione?'

'Yeah, that's what I'm hearing, too.'

'Do you think they know where _exactly_ we are?' Harry breathed.

Hermione shook her head, not like Harry could see through the darkness. 'I doubt it,' she answered. 'If they knew we were _here_ , they wouldn't be locking down the city. They'll just come straight for us. It's what they'd have done in Britain…the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree, does it?'

'I don't see Riddle taking the long game with us,' Harry agreed. 'Not that that makes me feel any better.'

Hermione swallowed. It did not make her feel any better, either. It felt like they were back in Londonderry, hiding from the SES. Only this time, the threat felt more immediate, more real, and them, more defenceless.

'Reinforce the door locks by magic,' she said, coming to an impromptu decision and taking charge. 'Let's cast a Muggle-Repelling Charm, too.'

'Use magic?' Harry asked. 'But I thought – '

'We're probably facing mostly muggles,' Hermione reasoned. 'And whatever wizards we will be facing…well, if the GBS are anything like the SES, I doubt they're good enough wizards that one or two of them would detect the magic on their own. Nothing too complex. A few charms on the locks and a Muggle-Repelling Charm. That's all.'

Hermione intuitively felt Harry nod in the darkness. ' _Repello muggletum_ ,' he murmured. Behind her, she heard Neville or Daphne walk up to the door and cast the required charms on it.

Judging by the sounds of the boots, the secret police were approaching. 'Get inside, whore!' Hermione heard one of them shout in French. Her temper flared at the insolence of the common thug. A second latter, there was the sound of a fist striking flesh, a terrified feminine shriek of pain. Hermione gripped her wand so tightly that her fingertips felt numb.

'You are violating a direct order from the Exalted Regent, bint!' a second voice snarled. 'Crawl inside before you get worse!'

Hermione could hear sobs now. 'What order?' the woman asked. 'What is happening?'

There was the sound of a gun's charging handle being pulled. Hermione could picture in her head one of the thugs pointing his weapon at the powerless woman. The mere image of that made her blood boil. It seemed like Harry was having a similar reaction. She could hear his heavy and furious breathing as he listened to the horror unfold.

'Are you questioning our authority?' the first voice demanded harshly. 'Do you realize that by questioning our authority, you are questioning that of Regent Voldemort?'

'I had no intention!' The woman sobbed even harder now. 'I only wanted to know why I was being treated like a prisoner in my own home!'

There was an angry roar from one of the gunmen. 'You dare – '

'You're wasting time,' his fellow cut in. 'Just deal with this and move on. We're late already.'

It took Hermione a second to realize what the brute had meant. A lightning bolt of horror shot through her as she realized what was about to happen, then a wave of guilt at the knowledge that she was powerless to stop it.

'Please, do not,' the woman pleaded. 'I have an old father…I have a son! You do not need – '

'Quit your grovelling,' the second thug spat. 'We do not have time for the pleas of traitors and spies who have no loyalty to the Regent and the Emperor.'

The unknown woman's sobs quietened as she resigned to her fate. Hermione held her breath, willing, hoping that it would not happen after all…

Two cracks of gunshots. A loud thud of a body onto the cobblestone street.

Hermione wanted to curl up into a ball and cry. She wanted to storm out of the door right that minute and kill the two murderers. She did not know what she wanted – needed to do. Harry's arms came around her. She buried her head into his shoulder and wept openly. There was a growing wetness on her own shoulder. Harry was shedding silent tears, too. Hermione knew immediately that he was remembering his own mother's death at Voldemort's hands.

'Great…we'll need to dispose of the evidence now,' Hermione heard the first thug mutter.

'Just leave the thing there,' the other replied. 'It'll be a warning to anyone else stupid or foolish enough to question us.'

'Good point,' the first one said, disgusting approval in his voice. 'A reminder of what'll happen to them if they don't listen.'

There was a minute of terrible silence, broken only be Hermione's sniffles and the sound of Harry's hand tenderly massaging her back. She did not know what the brutes were doing now. Were they looking for more people to murder? Were they reporting their 'score' to their superiors?

'Attention!' the voice of the second thug suddenly came over a megaphone. 'By order of the Exalted Regent in the name of the Eternal Emperor, you are to return to your homes immediately. You are not to leave until you are given notice. Any subject who disobeys will be dealt with using the harshest force possible!'

'Attention! By order of the Exalted Regent…'

Harry lit his wand tip, and Hermione could see his terrified, pale face, as well as those of Neville and Daphne further back.

'We're trapped,' he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

'What do we do?' Neville asked, looking between the three others.

'We'll have to weather this until Riddle gives up,' Daphne answered. 'They're trying to force us into the open. But if we don't…he'll have to give in eventually, won't he?'

'How much food do we have?' Harry asked shakily.

'Enough,' Hermione replied. 'We can always amplify our food supply…that won't be a problem. If Riddle's trying to starve us out...we're safe.'

'We'll need to stand watch at night,' Harry said, a bit of firmness returning to his voice. 'They could start trying to raid houses to search for us. We can't be caught unprepared.'

Hermione nodded. 'What about magical protection?'

'You know we can't do anything too obvious, Hermione…'

'Silencing wards, then? Or maybe a few privacy wards? They aren't very obvious to an untrained wizard and are easy enough to put up.'

'Are you sure?'

'We're gaining a lot of protection in exchange for very little risk,' Hermione argued.

Harry swallowed before nodding. 'Okay. I trust you.'

* * *

Daphne sat on the sitting room sofa, keeping night watch. Neville sat opposite her, trying to figure out how to use one of the muggle rifles. She had only just changed Neville's stitches not five minutes ago, and he was already back to his old self. Harry and Hermione had gone to sleep – actually gone to sleep – and it was all silent except for the occasional stomping of jackboots on the outside pavement.

There had been no more murders – that they had heard – since the death of the woman earlier that day. It should not have been so shocking for them, for back home, the secret police and the SES killed regularly and with impunity – sometimes in the name of 'enforcement', and sometimes simply for sport. But to see that the terror was just as real and ever-present across the Channel as it was back home had stunned all of them.

'Do you reckon we can put a Silencing Charm on this?' Neville asked suddenly, gesturing at the gun in his lap.

Daphne considered this, partly out of a desire to help and partly to find something to do. 'You could,' she replied. 'Although you might need some sort of more permanent enchantment…or one _finite_ and it's gone. You could link it to a ward or something…'

'Explain,' Neville requested. 'I never formally took Runes or anything like that.'

'You could use an object-localized blank ward on the gun,' Daphne said. 'And then attach a Silencing Charm to that. That should keep it from getting Disspelled.'

'That easy? Even I can do that.'

'In theory.'

Daphne watched as Neville grabbed a carving stylus off the breakfast table and began to work on the enchantments, a look of concentration on his face. Her mind could not help but wander back to the thoughts that she had buried these last few weeks and months in light of greater challenges.

How many years had she known Neville? The counter must be five or six by now. The first day that she had met him, Harry, and Hermione was one that she would always remember.

_It was late July 1999. It had been less than a month since her graduation from Hogwarts. Her seventh year had been invalidated by the new Ministry of Magic – with good reason. The warm summer breeze blowing through the quiet muggle neighbourhood concealed the fact that her world was at war._

_A war that she, a freshly qualified witch, had decided to fight._

_Her parents had been hesitant. It was not that they were supporters of You-Know-Who – her House had renounced that line of thinking more than half a century ago – but more so that they had been afraid. Afraid of getting on the wrong side of the wizard that had only about a year ago, plunged the entire magical world into chaos. And he was now trying to do it again._

_Perhaps Daphne was just being a hot-blooded youth like her parents had implied, but she did not see it that way. Nor, did she think, that was the case anyhow. She thought of her sister. What would happen to become of Astoria if You-Know-Who succeeded again? Astoria may be safe for now, given her family's 'Neutral' affiliation and her pure-blood status, but she had seen for herself what Hogwarts under You-Know-Who had become. Her parents had seen what the Ministry had become. How could she sit on the side-lines and not directly act when the danger had surfaced once more, and so soon? And what if it rises yet again, because the poisons that had led to the last war and this one had not been fully stamped out?_

_On some level, she despised the forgiveness that was shown towards people like Malfoy at the end of the last war. Was it not better to end them and their lines once and for all, and stamp out the reactionary weeds of their virulent, violent ideas before they could take root again?_

_It was these thoughts that plagued Daphne as she reached the house. She had heard that it was Hermione Granger's recently deceased uncle's house. She hesitated for a moment in front of the wards. The magical bubble was like the Rubicon to her. If she crossed them, there was no turning back. If she crossed them, she would be implicitly consenting to become a part of the Order of the Phoenix – or whatever it was called now._

_What was holding back? Her family? Maybe, but to her, the only way that she could protect them was by stepping through the magical barrier. Some indescribable force pushing her, Daphne took a deep breath and strode through briskly, not stopping until she reached the front door._

_It was there that she stopped once more. The Order was mostly Gryffindors, some Hufflepuffs, a few Ravenclaws. But a Slytherin? The end of the last war was still in everyone's collective memory. Would they trust her?_

_But the same indescribable force compelled her to cast those doubts out of her mind and ring the doorbell. She had cut off her own retreat, but somehow, she did not feel at all like she was trapped._

_The door opened a moment later. On the other side stood Hermione Granger. Right behind her was Harry Potter, and next to him, Neville Longbottom. All three had their wands drawn and had menacing expressions on their tired faces._

' _Uh…hello,' Daphne said unsurely. How would they react to her being here? Would they curse her without another word? Or would they simply throw her out and bid her never to come back?_

_Longbottom was the first one to lower his wand a little. Not by much, but enough to show that he was not going to curse her in the face._

' _Daphne Greengrass,' he said, eyes narrowing._

' _Neville Longbottom.'_

' _Why're you here?' Longbottom demanded._

' _Same reason as all of you,' Daphne replied. 'To fight against You-Know-Who.'_

'Voldemort _.' Potter hissed sharply. 'Do not use that foul invention around here.'_

_Daphne had been implicitly taught her whole life to avoid saying the name, but Potter sounded lethally insistent. If she wanted them to trust her…if she wanted them to at least not attack her…_

' _V-Voldemort,' Daphne corrected herself. 'To fight against Voldemort.'_

_Granger lowered her wand a little, a little tension leaving her face. But Potter held his wand as high as ever._

' _To fight against Voldemort,' Potter repeated. 'You didn't fight against him last time. What brought about the change?'_

' _Harry, maybe we shouldn't antagonize her so much…' Longbottom muttered._

_Potter ignored him, still demanding an answer from her._

' _I've seen what it was like under him,' Daphne replied, nervously eyeing the end of Potter's wand. 'I'm convinced…we need to fight to prevent that from happening again.'_

_Potter's eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth, to question further or incant a curse, Daphne did not know._

' _Harry, that's enough,' Granger said, turning around. 'Neville was right. Let's not antagonize every one of our potential allies.'_

_Potter looked hesitant for a second, a suspicious look still on his face, but he lowered his wand. Daphne could not help but notice this. Potter would listen to Granger, even when he would not listen to anyone else._

_There was an awkward pause as Daphne and the three looked at each other, neither sure of what to do._

' _Do you want to come inside?' Longbottom finally asked. 'And sit down?'_

Neville had been kind to her that day, Daphne remembered, even when the others were not. Hermione warmed up to her eventually, though it took many months. Harry took longer. It was not until more than a year after their initial meeting, when she had planned and orchestrated one of their few clean, successful raids on an Imperial Army supply dump that Harry finally began to trust her judgement. Another few months, and Harry considered her a part of the inner circle.

She had always liked Neville, but she did not consider them particularly close. After Ron's desertion and disappearance, Neville had been Harry and Hermione's second-in-command. The three constantly had meetings together that were closed to everyone else, even her, Luna, or Fleur. There was never much time to interact.

And then, they were forced into hiding, and everything changed.

They could not all stay together – that would draw too much suspicion – so Harry and Hermione paired off, while Daphne, Neville, and Luna shared their little 'house' in Mallaig. Now, she was all of a sudden spending all her time with the two of them. They could barely leave the house for fear of being tracked by the SES or the muggle secret police. At first, she felt like an outsider. Neville and Luna had known each other for years, and Daphne was only friendly with Neville, not _close_.

But for her, at least, the situation seemed to have some upsides. They were now constantly together. They had nothing else to do, and no way to stay out of each other's way. The three of them all grew closer.

Never again did Daphne see Astoria. She hoped that her little sister had made it out of the country with her parents, but realistically, there was no way she could believe it. She never found out their eventual fate, and she did not want to find out. To know would make it final, irrecoverable.

In the absence of Astoria, Luna slowly became her surrogate sister. She also grew more and more emotionally intimate with Neville. And then, in the absence of anything or anyone else, they became physically intimate.

Now, as she looked at Neville, still working on his object-localized wards, she began to wonder again. What was Neville to her? What did she want him to be?

She knew that she had deeper feelings for him that went beyond just sleeping with him for release. But Neville had always liked Luna more. Or so it seemed. Neville had tried to keep a brave face, had tried to jest and joke as a crutch, had tried to seem like all was well, but Daphne knew that inside, he was still hurting over Luna's death.

Like she was not herself.

Daphne did not know where to go with her thoughts, so she simply sat, watching thoughtlessly as Neville worked on his 'creation'.

'You're staring at me,' he said suddenly.

Daphne blinked and quickly averted her eyes. 'I wasn't.'

'I called your name three times and you didn't even move.'

'I was drifting off.'

Neville snorted. 'Sure.'

'What were you calling my name for, anyway?'

'It's done,' Neville said proudly, holding up the rifle. 'I put a Silencing Charm on it.'

'Congratulations,' Daphne replied, a little emotionlessly. 'You didn't _try_ it, did you?'

Neville chuckled. 'No, that's for right now.'

'What are you thinking, Neville?' Daphne hissed, wanting to smack him but stopping short when she remembered that she had just cleaned his wound. 'What if you repeat what happened on the boat?'

'I hope I won't,' Neville replied. 'I also put a Cushioning Charm on it. It might make it a little better.'

'Might.'

Neville shrugged. 'Might. We'll have to try it to find out.'

Before Daphne could stop him, Neville had pulled out the magazine from the gun. ' _Geminio_ ,' he whispered, and an identical copy appeared right next to it. Neville loaded the weapon – Daphne did not know whether to be glad or scared that he was now practised at this motion – and pulled the charging handle.

Daphne rose and raised her wand. 'At least don't shoot a hole in the bloody wall.' She conjured a cinder block. 'Here, shoot at this.'

Neville grinned at her in thanks and shouldered the rifle. Daphne thought to stop him, but she was not Hermione, and he was not Harry. They did not implicitly listen to each other like the two of them did, and she could tell that she was not going to win this battle.

He squeezed the trigger with his right hand. There was no sound, no sign that the weapon had worked except for Neville's shoulder jerking a little. Instantly, the cinder block split in two, releasing a shower of dust as the bullet passed through it.

'It worked,' Neville said matter-of-factly, staring at the dust cloud.

Daphne wanted to snort at the understatement, but then, she remembered what Neville must be feeling and thinking now that he had a chance to. 'It worked,' she repeated in the same flat voice.

'Well, we'll tell Harry and Hermione tomorrow,' Neville said with a small sigh, setting the rifle back on the table.

'Yeah.'

They sat in silence for much of the remainder of the night. Daphne wanted to say something, to talk to Neville, but she found that she could not. Everything that had been weighing on Neville was weighing on her, too. She did not know what she could to do lift the mood, so she, perhaps against her better judgement, did nothing.

Harry and Hermione came out of their room for their watch at two-thirty in the morning, and she and Neville returned to bed, still in silence. Neville was curled into a foetal position on his side of the bed. Daphne wanted to hold him, comfort him in some way.

She could not win the fight against her impulse, so she did, and Neville let her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to maschl for all his help with almost every aspect of this story. Thank you to W H Rutledge for his beta work and Stag for correcting my French. If you have not already, go check out maschl's I See No Difference. It is developing into an incredible story which gives a different take on the premises of Harry and Hermione escaping from Britain featuring a younger H/Hr pair. It features many sweet moments, kids being kids, and a critique of the failures of the wizarding world. Continuing on with the plugs, W H Rutledge has been doing great work with his stories Death's Embrace and A Grim Encounter. Go check them out if you like beautifully written fluff, or a bit of tragedy!


	7. VI: Les Nuits Noires

' _Crucio,_ ' the Dark Lord hissed. The muggle boy on the ground writhed and screamed in pain. He looked too much like his filthy father, the scum Riddle who had the audacity to give the Dark Lord his name. Thinking back, the Dark Lord had given his father too easy of a death. If he could have performed the Cruciatus Curse then as well as he does now…or if he had known some other curse that would have dealt a more painful demise…

There was a knock on his throne room door. The Dark Lord, without lifting the Cruciatus, nodded to his two half-blood attendants, who opened the door.

On the other side stood Felix Rosier, who kneeled immediately. 'My Lord, it appears that you are busy.'

'I am not, Rosier,' the Dark Lord replied. 'Incidentally, you may as well as clean up this piece of muggle scum.'

'You will bestow upon me the honour, My Lord?'

'Certainly, Rosier. The Dark Lord rewards his servants.'

Rosier stood up, strode towards the muggle, and drew his wand. The muggle boy looked in fear at him, then at the Dark Lord. Fool! As if the Dark Lord was going to spare his life.

' _Avada Kedavra!_ ' Rosier bellowed. The Killing Curse flew true and struck the muggle right between the eyes. Immediately, he rolled over limply, dead.

Rosier kicked the body once before kneeling back at the Dark Lord's feet. 'Thank you, My Lord.'

The Dark Lord nodded. 'What is your news, Rosier?'

'My Unspeakables have managed to rid the spell of its side effects, My Lord. Two weeks ahead of schedule.'

'Completely, Rosier?'

Rosier nodded. 'Yes, My Lord.'

The Dark Lord could not believe his good fortune. The spell was ready. Late, but still earlier than he had expected. His brilliant theory had proven workable in execution. There was only one last hurdle to overcome before he had a weapon more powerful than anything Potter, the counter-revolutionary resistance, or even the Russians and Finns could muster.

'How fast can we get up to the…required numbers?'

Rosier contemplated for a minute. 'My rough estimate is two months, My Lord.'

The Dark Lord nodded. Two months was a more than optimal timeframe. With the new, sympathetic muggle government installed in Russia the last month and the ever-increasing infighting within the Russian magical government, it was doubtful that the Russians could – or even would – organize against the planned invasion. Then again, it was always dangerous to underestimate the Russians.

'I want fifty percent more numbers, Rosier.'

'That could be done, My Lord,' Rosier said. 'It will take perhaps another month.'

'Then it will take another month,' the Dark Lord replied. 'We will need all the numbers we can get.'

'Yes, My Lord.'

'I want a demonstration of this spell, Rosier,' the Dark Lord demanded.

Rosier nodded. 'May you bestow me a muggle to test this spell on, My Lord?'

The Dark Lord shook his head, smiling. 'I have better, Rosier. Our forces captured a Russian spy on our side of the Vistula. A Mudblood, Rosier. Representative of what we will be crushing in several short months.'

'My Lord…may I…'

'You have done the Dark Lord a great service, Rosier,' the Dark Lord said. He turned to his attendants. 'Bring in the girl!'

One of the attendants opened the door and rushed out. A few minutes later, he returned with the gagged, bound prisoner.

'Remove her restraints,' the Dark Lord ordered. The servants did as he told them, cutting away the ropes and ripping off the cloth covering her mouth. The girl did not attempt to flee, but stood up straight in front of the Dark Lord.

'Kneel,' the Dark Lord hissed, angered by the insult from the inferior being.

'Never,' the girl sneered.

'Kneel!' the Dark Lord snarled.

'I do not kneel in front of no one,' the girl spat.

The Dark Lord lifted his wand, intending to cast the Imperius Curse and force the girl to respect, but Rosier interrupted him.

'My Lord, the Mudblood is not worth your energy,' he said quietly. 'Let me give it what it deserves and finish this.'

'You are right, of course, Rosier,' the Dark Lord replied, controlling his temper. A Mudblood was not worth the attention of the Dark Lord himself. 'Go on. Demonstrate the spell.'

'Any last words, Mudblood?' Rosier sneered, lifting his wand.

The girl glowered at the Dark Lord, holding her head high. ' _Вы никогда не победите, козлы!'_ she shouted. ' _Россия снова встанет, как она всегда! Наступит день, когда земля будет очищена от дьявольских зверей как вы!_ '

'I have heard enough,' the Dark Lord said, turning to Rosier. 'Finish it.'

Rosier levelled his wand at the Mudblood. ' _Capium anima!_ ' he roared. There was a bolt of orange lightning between Rosier's wand tip and the girl's chest. The girl's face twisted into a look of terrible agony. The Dark Lord willed her to scream – it would have been satisfying – but she refused. Her mouth was clamped shut, not allowing a single sound to slip out.

It took two more seconds before the orange beam disappeared. The girl remained standing, but the look of agony had disappeared from her face, to be replaced by a blank and unseeing expression.

'Is her soul gone?' the Dark Lord whispered.

Rosier nodded. 'It would appear so.'

The Dark Lord raised his wand and pointed it at the girl. There was only one thing left to do to fulfil his plan.

* * *

'It's been a week, and they're still not letting up,' Harry grumbled, looking up from preparing dinner. It was his and Hermione's turn tonight – which usually meant it was _his_ turn. Hermione could cook well enough to feed herself, but not well enough to make anything that was that great to eat.

'Look on the bright side. As long as we aren't dodging curses or running from bullets, right?' Neville said, trying to lighten the mood.

Harry huffed. 'People are being killed out there, Neville, and there's fuck all we can do!'

'You don't think that we feel any better about it than you do, right Harry?'

Harry sighed. 'No, I don't, but it almost feels like we escaped hiding in Britain to come hide in France.'

'Well, you can't expect to be out there every minute of every day, killing Death Eaters, SES, or whatever they call them,' Hermione said reasonably. 'I mean…even in the "best" days of the war – if you can call them that – we weren't running around getting into duels every day…or even every week.'

Harry knew that Hermione was right, but he could not help but continue feeling a sense of disappointment at the lack of progress. They had received no new information in the last few days. Neville and Daphne had told him about their meeting with a Hugo Allard, but they had all agreed that he was, at this point, simply a putative associate, not quite an ally.

And it appeared that they had little chance of cultivating that relationship now, with the entire city under martial law by the secret police.

They had all taken turns learning how to shoot the gun that Neville had cleverly enchanted. The Cushioning and Silencing Charms made it almost simple to point and fire, and they had been continually using Doubling Charms on the magazines, so they never ran out of cartridges.

Harry removed the shepherd's pie from the oven and carried it to the table before sitting down next to Hermione. They all took a slice in silence, and Harry cast a Replenishing Charm on the food to amplify the quantity. Immediately, the pie was whole again.

'Where do we go from here?' Harry broached on the topic halfway through dinner. 'A few days of…forced rest…is good, I suppose, but we can't spend the rest of our lives like this.'

'We need to try to make contact with Allard again,' Daphne replied. 'He knows more about what's going on in the rest of the country than we do. If we want to do…anything…we'll need information.'

'How do we contact Allard, though?' Harry asked. 'There's secret police everywhere. They have searchlights on the streets. They'll start shooting aimlessly in our direction even if we open the door, so I doubt Disillusionment or even the cloak could work. And I don't know if we can risk sending a Patronus again. Not with so many of them out there.'

'Fight through?' Daphne suggested weakly, picking at her food.

The four at the table looked darkly at each other, each knowing that her suggestion had been a fantasy. There was no way they could sneak out of the house without possibly revealing their precise location. Voldemort's forces will come down hard on them, then, if they did.

'I guess we'll have to wait it out,' Harry murmured dejectedly, stabbing a piece of pie with venomous exasperation.

* * *

Hugo Allard burned the letter in his fireplace. Even with the entire country under martial law by the _police politique_ , the network was still moving refugees north.

Allard was not unhappy about that. They were getting them out of the country right under the GBS and _police politique_ 's noses. But from a logistical and manpower standpoint, the challenge was immense. He was the only one left of the resistance in this part of the country, and under the current lockdown, his task was more than just difficult. It was nearly impossible.

In two days, he was to receive a muggle-born and his mother and father from operative _Moulin_ near Isneauville, north of Rouen, and he had to move them a hundred kilometres or so north to the village of Moyenneville, just south of Abbeville, to hand him off to operative _Leclerc_. Normally, this was a journey that he could make in two nights, but now, he was not sure.

In the past, he would simply follow the A28 expressway north to complete the journey, but he had no information on the _police politique_ 's movements and deployment. He could take a chance at apparating them, but it was risky. He had already tripped alert wards more than five times in the last year, attempting the same. Now, with the country-wide lockdown, he was certain that the alert wards would be more diligently monitored.

He could not simply ignore the communication – that would condemn three innocent people to nearly certain death – but he did not know how he could ensure their safety, either. He needed more manpower. Manpower he could not get.

Not unless…

Longbottom and Greengrass had offered to help. At the time, Allard had rebuffed them, thinking that the resistance would not permit untested newcomers to even assist in its operations. But now, he knew that this mission was not something he could accomplish on his own. Perhaps the resistance would turn a blind eye and not question him? He was desperate, after all.

The only problem was that he did not know where Longbottom and Greengrass were. He could sneak out of his house and evade the _police politique_ without issue, but without knowing where they were in the city, there was no way that he could find them in a city of over twenty thousand.

He could risk sending a Patronus. It was the only possible means he had of communicating with them. But it would be a tremendous risk. Interspersed among the _police politique_ operators were wizards from the GBS. Even pathetic wizards like them could identify a Patronus if they saw one.

But what other means did he have? He was desperate.

He decided to act, seeing no other choice. He would have to wait until day, at least. The light of the Patronus would be far less visible under the noon sun.

* * *

'Again? I always lose to you!'

Hermione chuckled. 'You know, if you didn't lose every time to Neville or Daph, I'd honestly think you were losing purposefully.'

Harry scowled. 'It shouldn't even be legal how much better you are than me at Exploding Snap.'

'You married me,' Hermione said, cocking an eyebrow. 'You chose this life. Do you regret it now?'

'I can never regret it,' Harry huffed. 'Doesn't mean I need to celebrate when you've beaten me for the twelfth time in a row.'

'There are perks to make up for that, aren't there?' Hermione asked, winking.

Harry could not help but smile. 'Too many to count.'

They did not play another game of Exploding Snap, though. Harry was tired of losing, and they had been playing since the morning, anyway. Harry was getting restless day by day. He needed something to do that was not mindless card games, practicing duelling, cooking meals, or practicing shooting with the rifles. He needed to feel…useful. He understood better than ever how Sirius felt when he was confined to Grimmauld Place almost a decade ago.

And suddenly, around two in the afternoon, a silvery rooster flew into the living room and landed in front of Neville and Daphne.

' _This is Hugo_ ,' it spoke in slightly accented English. ' _I have a mission that I cannot discuss this way. I need your help. Please, if you can, meet me at my home or return your location in reply._ '

Harry, Hermione, Neville, and Daphne looked at each other, each unsure of what to make of this. Sure, the Patronus message was more likely than not authentic – they required familiarity with the recipient beyond knowledge of their name, and therefore could not have been sent by a random GBS or Death Eater – but a mission? To Harry, the possibility that it could be a trap was too great to ignore. What if Allard had been compromised? Or worse, what if he was a double agent?

'What do you make of this?' Harry asked everyone and no one.

There was silence for several minutes before anyone replied.

'I think…to be perfectly honest, I think we…someone…needs to see him,' Daphne said tentatively. 'It could be a trap, yes, but what if he has information that we need?'

'You want to take this risk, knowing that it could turn out to be a deception?'

Daphne sighed. 'Do we have another choice? We don't know when this martial law is going to be lifted – if it's ever going to be lifted. If Hugo knows of a way to get away…'

Harry considered this. He trusted Daphne's judgement on strategic affairs second only to Hermione's. Sometimes even more. He knew that she had a point. Whatever happened, meeting Allard would provide them with information that they needed. It was a risk they needed to take.

'We cannot give him this address,' Harry said, making the decision. 'We'll need to go to him.'

Hermione stared at him. 'We're going to have to get out of this house.'

'So? The other way around, Allard will have to get out of his house,' Harry argued. 'We'll be taking a risk either way. Going to him is the lesser of the two.'

'I think I should go alone,' Daphne said. 'We can't have – '

'Not happening,' Neville interrupted. 'If you go, then I go. We've both met Allard. He sent the message to both of us. It only makes sense.'

'Then we're all going,' Hermione shot. 'If it's indeed a trap, then four is much better than two.'

Neville shook his head. 'Hermione, you haven't met the man. He – '

'You did tell him Harry and I were with you, didn't you?'

Neville nodded. 'But – '

'Then do you think he'd be too surprised that we showed up?'

Neville looked unsure. 'Well…he might not be…but don't you think it could come off as…threatening?'

'If he really, genuinely, wants our help, then he would not perceive it as a threat,' Harry pointed out. 'From what you told us, he knows who we are and what we are. I doubt he'd think we were there to cause him harm.'

Neville swallowed, still looking reluctant, but nodded. 'I guess you're right. We'll all go, then.'

'Great,' Harry said. 'Now, how're we supposed to get out of the house and past all the secret police?'

'Now you're thinking too much unlike a wizard, Harry,' Neville chortled. 'Daph and I've been to his home, Harry. We could just apparate.'

* * *

Late Wednesday night, the foursome readied themselves for departure. Just to be safe, they had packed all their things back into their bags, in case they could not return. Harry and Hermione had learned that lesson more than seven years ago during the Horcrux Quest, when they had been forced to flee from Grimmauld Place, abandoning many of their essential items in the process.

Allard had only sent one more message, confirming the date and time, so neither Harry, nor any of the others, knew what their mission entailed. From Allard's secretiveness, Harry surmised that it was covert, and most likely dangerous, but none of them had been able to deduce anything else from the two brief messages.

Harry checked his watch. 'It's almost nine. We need to go.'

The four of them checked their preparations one last time and gathered in the middle of the room, wands in hand. They would arrive ready for combat, prepared for the possibility that this had all been a setup. Neville took Harry's hand, the girls took each other's, and they disapparated.

Harry and Neville landed in a rather musty-smelling kitchen. It reminded Harry a little too much of his hideout in Londonderry for comfort. A split second later, Hermione and Daphne appeared right behind them.

A few moments later, a tall, mousy-haired man appeared in the kitchen. He bore a cautious look on his face, but when he recognized them, the tension bled out of his countenance, and he smiled.

' _Bonsoir_ ,' he greeted warmly. 'Good to see you again, Monsieur Longbottom and Mademoiselle Greengrass.' He turned to Harry and Hermione. 'And you must be…'

'Hermione Granger,' Hermione replied. 'And Harry Potter.'

Allard nodded. 'Good to meet you, _Monsieur et Mademoiselle_. Please, take a seat. I will be back in a minute.'

The foursome sat down at Allard's kitchen table, and the man left the room. Harry fingered the Elder Wand nervously beneath the table. If Allard had gone for reinforcements…

Fortunately, when Allard returned a few minutes later, he was still all alone. In his hands were five flasks of golden potion that Harry recognized by their characteristic upwelling sparkles as Invigoration Draughts. He set them down on the table and slid one to each of them, keeping the last one for himself.

' _Philtres Revigorants_ ,' Allard said. 'Reinvigorating Potions. Drink. You will need it.'

Harry briefly cast a Revelaspell underneath the table, and upon finding that the flasks indeed contained Invigoration Draughts – though about three times the usual dose – nodded almost imperceptibly to the others. The four of them unstopped the flasks and poured the contents into their mouths.

'What is this mission?' Neville asked as he set his empty flask back down on the table.

Allard took a deep breath. 'You know that I smuggle the people the regime calls "undesirables" north, yes?'

Daphne's eyes widened in understanding. 'Is that what you're doing to night? And you want us to help you?'

Allard nodded. 'Only if you would like to.'

'We'd like to,' Neville answered immediately. 'But I thought you said…'

'That the resistance will not trust you?' Neville nodded. 'What the resistance says be damned. The entire country is under martial law by the _police politique_. These are extreme circumstances, Monsieur Longbottom.'

'Then what is the plan?' Neville asked.

Allard laid a map out on the table. 'We are to rendezvous with three refugees here, in Isneauville, at nine tomorrow morning at the latest,' he said, jabbing a finger at the map. 'Then, we are to bring them north to Moyenneville, right here.' He traced his finger up to the north and east. 'They need to be at the safehouse there by Saturday, at nine. Two nights and two days.'

'Isneauville is about a ten-hour journey by foot from here,' he continued. 'We will make it by night and arrive by morning. We cannot move too much by day, maybe several kilometres if we are lucky. We cannot use the roads. The _police politique_ patrols them diligently. We cannot apparate, either. We may trip alarm wards around towns.'

Allard looked up. 'You will go? Or not?'

'We're going,' Harry replied firmly. If he had a chance to help the war, he was going to take it. 'Hermione?'

'Go,' she said. 'Neville?'

'Go,' affirmed Neville. 'Daph?'

'Go.'

'Thank you all,' Allard said gratefully. 'This would be impossible without your help. One last thing…'

He rose and left the room once again, returning half a minute later with two assault rifles in hand. 'We must avoid magic as much as possible,' he explained. 'The GBS patrols the major roads along with the _police politique_. Using magic will draw attention. You know how to shoot a gun?'

'We've been practicing,' Harry replied.

Allard raised an eyebrow. 'You have your own?'

Harry opened his rucksack, pulled out their two rifles, and set them on the table. Allard looked at them approvingly.

'FN FAL? Where did you get them?'

'We took them off the secret police back in Britain.'

'That is good, then. I only have three of these,' Allard said, gesturing to the weapons in his hands. ' _FAMAS_. I got them the same way you did. Took them from the _police politique_ after a fight. You have them Silenced?'

Neville nodded. 'I put Silencing and Cushioning Charms on them.'

' _Très bien_. These have the same charms on them. Stealth is important. We will all be under _Désillusion_ , but do not let your guard down,' Allard warned. 'The GBS puts up wards against them around towns and or even in random places. They could be anywhere. Always be ready to fight. Understood?'

The four of them nodded solemnly.

'Good.' Allard put two of the rifles down on the table. 'I will go get mine. Get ready. We will leave in five minutes.'

Harry and Hermione grabbed their own rifles from the table, and Neville and Daphne took the FAMAS's that Allard gave them. The four of them checked their possessions one more time and rose, heading into the living room to wait for Allard.

He returned a few minutes later, a rucksack on his back and another FAMAS slung over his shoulders. 'Follow me.'

Allard made his way to one corner of the room and bent down, lifting two floorboards and revealing a hidden entrance to what appeared to be a tunnel.

'This is how we leave,' he said. 'This tunnel goes through abandoned sewers to the edge of the city. Come.'

Allard descended what seemed like a flight of rough steps into the tunnel. Harry followed, Hermione right behind him, with Neville and Daphne bringing up the rear.

'Replace the floorboards after you,' Allard called from up front. Neville turned around and closed the entrance behind him.

' _Lumos_ ,' Allard whispered, lighting his wand. Harry and the others followed suit as they slowly inched forward in the low-ceilinged passageway.

'This is very uncomfortable,' Allard commiserated. 'It will end soon. The old sewage tunnels are about a hundred metres ahead.'

The five of them crept forward in silence. Suddenly, Allard stepped down in front of Harry, and he saw that the tunnel had opened into a wide, draughty space.

'These are the sewers,' Allard said. 'Step out and I will seal the entrance by magic.'

Neville was the last one to step out, and when he did, Allard turned around and waved his wand twice. Immediately, the roughly dug entrance sealed itself, concealing the tunnel behind bricks that seemed to be no different from the rest of the tunnel walls.

'This way, quickly.'

Allard started forward, and the four of them followed him as he made his way through the pitch-black tunnels. They turned right, then turned left, continued for some time before turning left again. Finally, they found themselves in front of a slightly frayed rope ladder.

'I will go up first and open the drain cover. Only come out when I give the signal.'

Allard started up the ladder. About a man's height up, he stopped and reached out with his free hand, lifting and moving aside the iron manhole cover. Harry saw the night sky above as it opened and Allard climbed out.

'Clear,' he called down after a few seconds.

Harry went first. The rope ladder swayed, and several times, Harry felt like he was about to lose his balance and fall – but he did not. He climbed out of the old storm drain into an empty field. He looked around. He could see dark silhouettes of buildings behind him, their lights off and curtains drawn. Harry supposed that that was the town where they had come from.

Hermione came next, sounding a little winded as she climbed out.

'You okay?' Harry asked gently.

Hermione nodded. 'I'm fine. Just thought I'd lose my balance a few times.'

Harry chuckled. 'Same for me.'

Neville and Daphne came up after Hermione. Daphne, the last one out, moved the cover back onto the manhole and covered it with a light sprinkling of soil and grass as Allard instructed.

Allard took out a compass and verified his direction. 'Before we leave, I am going to cast _le Sortilège de Désillusion_ on you,' he said. 'We will not be able to see each other – '

'We know a variant that does allow us to see each other,' Harry interrupted.

Allard raised an eyebrow. 'You do?'

Harry nodded. He drew his wand and tapped each of them on the head, then himself. He felt the characteristic cold trickle that indicated the charm had worked. He looked up. He could still see all the others.

'This worked?' Allard asked sceptically.

'Did you feel the cold trickle?'

Allard nodded.

'Then it worked,' Harry said. 'The whole point is so that the people you intend to let see you can see you.'

'If you say it worked, then it worked,' Allard replied. He pulled out a compass and verified their heading. 'This way,' he said, waving his hand and beginning to head south, away from the city.

'We will shadow the N27 expressway for most of our trip,' he said. 'We will be staying a little farther from it than I usually do, for obvious reasons.'

They walked in mostly silence to maintain stealth, following Allard's silhouette in front of them. Harry copied Allard, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and keeping his wand in his hand. Several times, Allard detoured slightly to avoid populated areas, preferring to keep to the countryside. Thanks to the triple dose of Invigoration Draught from earlier, Harry did not feel the least bit tired, even though it was already nearing midnight.

Suddenly, at just past three, Allard stopped in his tracks, holding up a hand and gesturing for the others to halt. He pocketed his wand and exchanged it for his rifle.

'What's going on?' Hermione asked in a nervous whisper.

'Up ahead, the village,' Allard replied, gesturing in front of him. 'This should be Tôtes. We are around halfway there. This is a larger village than the other ones we passed. Sometimes there are officers from the _police politique_ patrolling. Usually there are no GBS. Use your assault rifles, but do not shoot except to defend yourself. If we kill any of them, they will blame the villagers.'

Harry and the others put away their wands and drew their rifles like Allard had ordered. They followed him as he began making a wide circle around the village, keeping his FAMAS pointed towards it at all times.

'See there?' Allard gestured. 'Use your scopes. Armoured car of the _police politique_. They doubled down on reinforcements even here.'

Harry looked through his rifle's scope in the direction that Allard had pointed in. After a few seconds of searching, he found the familiar-looking black armoured car, identical to the ones he and Hermione had spotted the day when they had scouted the outskirts of Dieppe.

'Could they be out here? In the fields?' Hermione breathed.

'Usually they will not,' Allard answered. 'Their orders are to patrol the villages. If there is one thing those beasts can do well, it is following orders.'

They edged past the town slowly and cautiously, not letting their guard down for a moment. Every ten minutes or so, Harry would re-cast the Disillusionment Charm on all of them, renewing it in case they had accidentally stepped through a disspelling ward of some kind. Finally, with the dark silhouette of Tôtes behind them, Allard shouldered his rifle once again and drew his wand.

'Safe,' he said, taking out his compass. 'We will start deviating from the N27 around here. Head south south-east along small roads. There should be less of a chance of running into anything now, but do not let your guard down.'

They followed Allard as he proceeded down their new heading. All was quiet. The only excitement that occurred was when they crossed a major road, and had to secure a fifty-metre stretch on either side of their crossing point before they dashed across as quickly as possible.

As they walked further south, Allard began leading them through hilly forests, avoiding the low-lying farmland and roadways where they could be easily attacked from the towns, which were growing larger in size as the rural French countryside gave way to scattered suburban towns.

The sky began to lighten at slightly after five. They had been walking for more than eight hours by now, and even with the Invigoration Draught, Harry was beginning to tire. He asked Allard how far they still had to go.

'We just passed Clères,' he replied. 'We have about another two hours to go. We are making good time.'

'The sun's beginning to rise,' Hermione said worriedly. 'Will we make it?'

Allard nodded. 'It will be fine. A lot of the rest of the journey we can make through forests. And we have the _Désillusion._ We will have to slow down to check it every ten minutes or so, but we can make it before day really breaks.'

True to Allard's word, the party soon began moving through mostly forested hillsides. When they descended down into the flat farmlands, they were forced to proceed slowly, avoiding making obvious disturbances and checking their Disillusionment Charms constantly.

'That was La Muette that we just passed below,' Allard said at about half-past-seven. 'Isneauville is the next town. Another twenty minutes until we arrive.'

They soon descended the hill into another stretch of farmland. Harry re-cast the Disillusionment Charm on all of them as they stepped out from the trees. On his right, he could see a decently sized town. He assumed that that was Isneauville. Allard did not lead them in that direction, however, but instead started straight across the field.

They crossed another road. 'It is up ahead,' Allard exclaimed, pointing in front of him. Harry looked in the direction that he was pointing. There, on the other side of the field, stood a small, nondescript farmhouse.

'That is the safehouse,' Allard said. 'They will be there. When we cross the rest of the way, look out for the _police politique_ or any other enemies in the vicinity. Let's go.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will not be latinising Russian in translations. I don't think it's important as unless you can speak Russian, you would not understand either way. It also takes a lot of extra effort on my part because it's not something I do naturally. If you can read Russian/Cyrillic alphabet, then you are in luck.
> 
> Thank you to maschl for all his help with almost every aspect of this story. Thank you to W H Rutledge for his beta work and Stag for correcting my French. If you have not already, go check out maschl's I See No Difference as well as W H Rutledge's A Grim Encounter!
> 
> Translations for this chapter:
> 
> Russian:
> 
> Вы никогда не победите, козлы! Россия снова встанет, как она всегда! Наступит день, когда земля будет очищена от дьявольских зверей как вы! = You (plural) will never win, swine! Russia will stand once more, like she always does! The day will come when the Earth will be cleansed of devil's beasts like you!


	8. VII: Entendez-vous dans les campagnes?

They crossed the field slowly and carefully, looking out for any enemy presence. When they were about ten metres from the front door, Allard held up a hand, stopping them.

'Let me go inside first,' he said. 'If there are other members of the network here, they will take more kindly to seeing me.'

Harry nodded. He, Hermione, Neville, and Daphne waited as Allard walked up to the door, knocked once, and entered. He disappeared inside for more than five minutes before he finally returned.

'Come inside,' he beckoned. 'They are here.'

The four of them made their way cautiously into the house. Harry's wand was still gripped tightly in his hand. As much as he was sure after the previous night that Allard was not a double agent, that he was not going to betray them, he could not help but feel a sense of foreboding as he entered the slightly run-down safehouse.

Inside, on the sofa, sat a middle-aged woman and an older couple, all in muggle clothing. Harry surmised that the woman was a muggle-born, and the older man and woman were her parents.

' _Qui sont-ils?_ ' the middle-aged woman asked Allard.

' _Ils sont Anglais_ ,' Allard replied. ' _Ils sont mes alliés. J'ai besoin de leur aide dans notre…climat actuel._ '

The woman's eyes narrowed briefly with suspicion, but then relaxed. ' _Si vous leur faites confiance…_ '

Allard nodded. He turned to Harry and the group. 'This is Mademoiselle Boucher,' he said. 'And Monsieur and Madame Boucher.'

' _Enchanté_ ,' Harry said, inclining his head slightly.

' _Enchantée_ ,' Mademoiselle Boucher replied.

'We have to leave here as soon as possible,' Allard said, sounding a little apologetic. 'I know you must be tired after last night's journey, but we must move on to the next safehouse when their forces are still not out in full. The next safehouse is about two hours northeast in Cailly. We will spend the rest of the day there and move by night. Good?'

Harry nodded. He was feeling rather fatigued, but the reasons Allard gave were valid – it was what he would have done himself in this situation.

'Then we will leave in ten minutes,' Allard announced. He turned back to the Bouchers. ' _Préparez-vous_ _à_ _partir dans dix minutes._ '

Ten minutes and another Invigoration Draught later, the group of eight were ready to depart. Harry and Hermione went around and cast the modified Disillusionment Charm on everyone, including Mademoiselle Boucher's muggle parents.

'We will go northeast,' Allard said to Harry and Hermione as they set out. 'We will shadow the A28 expressway but use smaller roads that avoid the larger towns. I do not believe we will run into anything here, but be careful as always.'

The party had to move slowly as the sun rose further in the sky. They increased the frequency at which they checked their Disillusionment Charms to once every five minutes. Thankfully, their path north took them through several long patches of forests, where they could move faster without fear of being tracked at range by the secret police.

'We will have to cross a commune,' Allard said about an hour into their march. 'Saint-Georges-sur-Fontaine. It is a small village, but given the way things are currently, we might run into the _police politique_. Switch to rifles.'

The four of them and Allard pocketed their wands and shouldered their assault rifles. They checked their Disillusionment Charms once again as they stepped out of the forest. In front of them, Harry could see a small town – not much more than several houses on either side of a road – and beyond that, open fields. The battle-hardened part of his mind could immediately see danger coming from all directions.

Allard pointed to his right. 'That is the town centre. We are a little west of it. Fewer houses here. Less chances of running into anyone. Do not shoot unless in self-defence, and in that case, shoot to wound. It will take up more of the _police politique_ 's resources that way and they will not punish the villagers as much.'

Slowly, they edged closer to the town, constantly checking in every direction for potential enemies. The approach, which must have been no more than four hundred metres, took nearly ten minutes with them constantly checking their Disillusionments to guard against them having accidentally stepped through a disspelling ward.

'Do not bother clearing either side,' Allard commanded as they reached the road. 'It might draw more attention. Just go across.'

As a group, the eight of them sprinted across the street. The moment they reached the other side, they followed Allard's lead and went prone on the grass, surveying for any enemies.

'Do not move,' Allard ordered quietly. 'Wait until I give the clear.'

They stayed in their position, unmoving and in uneasy silence, for nearly five minutes. Finally, Allard gave the thumbs-up and rose. Immediately, Harry and Hermione re-cast the Disillusionment Charms on everyone in the group.

Allard pointed to a line of trees in front. 'We will make for the forest. The trees follow the river Cailly. We will have cover for most of the rest of the way.'

As quickly as they could without neglecting stealth, the group crossed the open fields and entered the cover of the forest. They followed Allard's lead as he made his way through the trees. To his left, Harry could see a small river, no more than a stream. He assumed that that was the river that Allard had been talking about.

'We will have to cross the river,' Allard said after nearly another hour, abruptly turning left. 'The safehouse is on the north side of the town, across the river. We cross here, where there are trees on the other side to cover us.'

The river was so narrow that Harry could simply step over onto the other bank. Once across, they ducked into another forest. They walked through the woods for another half hour and exited onto a small stretch of field. Harry could see another small farmhouse across it.

'We are there,' Allard said, sounding equal parts glad and exhausted. 'That one in front is the safehouse. As with earlier, cross the field carefully. We need to be certain no one sees us.'

Harry saw no one except for an elderly-looking man standing all alone several houses away. He seemed to be looking at them as they approached, which gave Harry a rather unsettling feeling, despite knowing that they should have been invisible. He shook off the feeling and followed Allard the rest of the way silently. When they reached the front door, Allard pushed it open slowly and silently before quickly ushering the rest of them in.

'Right now, it is about ten,' Allard said, checking his watch. 'We will depart at twenty-one thirty. We have about eleven hours to rest. Since we have five, we can take turns keeping watch. Two hours each. I can take the first. If there is any trouble at all, I will wake everyone.'

Hermione tugged their magical tent free from her bag and erected it in the middle of the sitting room as Allard left to keep watch. She, Harry, Neville, and Daphne entered, taking their respective bunks. Harry did not realize how exhausted he was until his head hit the pillows and he fell asleep.

* * *

The Dark Lord paced around the body of the soul-removed girl still lying in the Throne Room. He was overcome with frustration. Rosier had assured him repeatedly that the arithmanic theory behind the spell was sound, but despite all the changes the Unspeakables had made, it again and again proved unworkable in practice.

'What did you find, Ferreica?' he demanded.

The Portuguese dark arithmancer looked up. 'I do not know, My Lord,' he replied timidly. 'My hypothesis is that whoever did these calculations used only a second-order infinite sum approximation…perhaps higher precision would yield a better result…'

'Then give me a higher precision result,' the Dark Lord snapped. He needed this spell to work. The Soul-Removal Spell worked perfectly, but if he could do nothing with the bodies of those whose souls had been removed, then it was worthless as anything more than a terror weapon.

Ferreica got back to work. The Dark Lord continued pacing around the girl's body. Soul removal at least had one positive to outright killing – the bodies did not decay. As long as the Dark Lord's attendants kept forcing food down its throat, its bodily functions continued mostly as normal.

'I think I got it,' Ferreica said an hour later, looking up. 'I increased the precision of the approximation and re-evaluated two of the triple integrals using a substitution into spherical coordinates, which – '

The Dark Lord could not care less for the technical jargon. 'You say it works?'

Ferreica gulped, then nodded nervously. 'I think so, My Lord.'

'Show me.'

The arithmancer handed the parchment to the Dark Lord. Ferreica's calculations had necessitated a change in incantation, as well as a change in the magical power needed for the spell. It all still remained doable, though, even for the lowliest of the SES.

The Dark Lord levelled his wand at the girl's body. ' _Corpus Vestrum Impero_ ,' he hissed, reading the incantation off the parchment. ' _Vivite et Obedite_.'

The girl's body stirred. Her eyeballs twitched in their sockets. The Dark Lord waited. Previous incarnations of the spell had done this, too, yet still failed. But if Ferreica was right, the magic should take less than a minute now to grasp onto the void that the soul had left behind.

He continued watching. The girl's arms and legs twitched. This was a good sign, for previous versions did not hold on for long enough for this effect to occur. Another twenty seconds…

The girl sat up. Her facial expression was as blank as ever. The magic did not provide her with another soul, and she therefore had no ability to think or feel. That suited the Dark Lord perfectly. Now, all he needed was to test if the control elements woven into the spell's architecture worked.

The Dark Lord commanded the girl to stand. She stood, following the Dark Lord's instructions. It was looking good, but the Dark Lord knew not to celebrate just yet. Perhaps a more complex command would throw off the spell…

He ordered the girl to sit down at the desk that Ferreica had vacated and write a loyalty pledge to the Dark Lord on a piece of parchment. She sat down and picked up a quill and a piece of parchment, moving jerkily – but moving all the same. After a minute, she stood, walked over to the Dark Lord, and handed him the parchment.

The handwriting was completely illegible and there were blots of ink everywhere, but the Dark Lord did not care. He did not need these reanimated husks to be perfect at everything – only he was – but he could already tell that they were far more useful than the plain Inferi which he had initially planned to rely on for the Russia invasion. Now, he would only need to create an army of them…

There was only one loose end to tie up. Ferreica, the creator, knew the secret behind the spell. That could not be allowed. Ferreica would have to join the army that he had helped create.

The Dark Lord drew his wand.

* * *

Harry was on a tropical island. Hermione was lying next to him on the brilliant white sand, clad only in a bikini bottom. The gentle waves of the azure sea rhythmically caressed the shoreline as a placid, warm breeze blew across his features.

And then the earth began to shake.

'Harry, wake up!'

Harry protested, wanting to stay on the island. He was not ready to go home yet…

'Wake up, Harry! We're under attack!'

Like he had been hit with a bolt of lightning, Harry snapped out of his dream. His eyelids shot apart, and he found himself staring into a pair of panic-filled grey irises.

'Get up, Harry,' Daphne hissed. 'They're shooting at us.'

Harry sat up bolt upright and grabbed his wand and rifle off the floor to the side of his bed. 'Hermione?'

'She's with Neville and Hugo,' Daphne replied. 'There're people from the secret police outside. I think a few GBS, too. Come on.'

Harry followed her out of the tent and up the stairs. Now that he was out of the magical tent, his ears were met with a torrent of sound – shooting and explosions were coming from all directions. He checked his watch. It was six in the evening.

'Harry!' Hermione shrieked. Her wand was in her hand, and her rifle was propped up against the windowsill.

Allard simply nodded at him between bursts of fire. 'Reinforce the left side,' he ordered, jerking his head in Hermione's direction.

Harry knelt down besides the windowsill, using it as cover. 'What's going on?' he asked Hermione in a hiss. 'How many? And who?'

'The secret police,' Hermione replied. 'Daph was on watch. She said she saw two of those armoured cars come in. So at least sixteen, maybe more. There're GBS here, too. There were a couple of Killing Curses flying around a few minutes ago.'

'What do we do?'

Hermione peeked around the corner of the window. 'Allard said to shoot anyone approaching the house. With magic or the guns. Doesn't matter.'

'Armoured car to the left side!' Allard barked. Harry peeked out of the window. One of the black armoured cars was moving up around the house to his and Hermione's side. A secret police officer was standing on top, manning the heavy machine gun.

'Reductor Curses on three!' Harry shouted to Hermione over the sounds of shooting. 'One...two…three!'

' _Reducto!_ ' both he and Hermione shouted simultaneously, aiming their wands at the armoured car. The entire front of the vehicle disintegrated into dust as the curse hit. Harry watched as the driver attempted fruitlessly to shield his face against the speeding shrapnel.

' _Confringo!_ ' he and Hermione followed up without a second's hesitation. The Blasting Curses ricocheted off the floor of the armoured car and exploded in its dead centre. A second later, there was another, far more massive explosion as the fuel and ammunition stored within cooked off. The body of the vehicle was ripped apart on all sides as it exploded. A secret police officer standing to the car's left was gruesomely decapitated by a flying piece of steel.

'Wizards coming around to your side, Harry, Hermione!' Neville shouted before the dust from the explosion had even settled. 'Use guns!'

As if to prove that point, a green jet of light flew through the window, passing barely half a metre over Harry's head and exploding in a shower of sparks on the ceiling. Harry and Hermione shouldered their assault rifles and found three wizards of the GBS standing right out in the open, not even attempting to use cover. He and Hermione opened fire, Neville's Cushioning Charm making controlled fully automatic fire simple. Two magazines and forty rounds later, all three wizards were lying on the ground in puddles of their own blood, torsos covered in bullet wounds.

Another two secret police officers dashed across the open field from behind a rock towards the still-burning armoured car. Harry picked up his wand, and with a single Blasting Curse, caught both of the thugs as they ran and blew them apart.

There was another explosion from off to Harry's left. He turned to see Neville's face lit up by light from a brilliant orange fireball. The second armoured car had just been knocked out.

'They're running!' Neville shouted. 'They're running off in your direction, Harry, Hermione!'

'Execute every one of them,' Allard ordered. 'They cannot be allowed to report back that they fought wizards. Shoot them in the back. They are all such cowards that it makes no difference.'

True to Neville's word, five secret police officers clad in all black were running as fast as they could away from the house. Harry and Hermione reloaded their rifles and took careful aim.

Harry squeezed the trigger once. The first man fell. He took his eyes off the scope. Hermione had already killed the second man.

He trained his rifle on the back of the third officer and fired. The bullet hit the woman in the head and blew away half her skull. Harry wanted to retch at the up-close, magnified view of the gore that the scope offered, but now was not the time. He turned his barrel towards the final officer and shot him in the neck, killing him instantly.

'We're clear,' Hermione said in a smaller voice than usual, her face white and looking grim. Harry did not doubt that she, too, had seen what had happened to the secret police officer that Harry had shot.

'Clear,' Daphne called.

'Clear,' Allard said grimly. He stood up and turned to the other four, a look of unquestionable command on his face. 'Gather your things. We leave in five minutes. We cannot stay here now that they know about this safehouse.'

Harry shouldered his rifle and picked up his wand, and he and Hermione dashed downstairs to collect the tent. Hermione shoved it rather roughly back into her beaded bag and the four of them waited by the door for Allard.

He returned a few minutes later with the three refugees in tow. They looked a little shaken and scared, but otherwise fine. Allard extracted six small vials of Invigoration Draught and without a word, everyone besides the muggles drank the dose. Allard gave them a caffeine pill each instead.

'It is seven,' Allard said, a little breathlessly. 'We should try to make it to Blangy-sur-Bresle tonight. That is about an eleven-hour journey northeast. There is another safehouse there. Hopefully one that has not been compromised.'

Harry and Hermione cast Disillusionment Charms on the group, and they set out without another word. The sun was starting to set over the western horizon, and the clouds were a beautiful shade of orange. They were on guard for another attack – rifles and wands drawn and at the ready – but as the day began to give way to night, there was no movement on the country lanes and fields through which they were journeying.

About two hours into the journey, Allard pointed out a town to their left. 'That is Saint-Saens,' he said. 'There used to be a safehouse there. Another agent, _d'Astier_ , used to bring the refugees up to here, where I would take over. They got raided one night. _D'Astier_ and the couple he was escorting were all murdered. After that, I took over the entire route between Rouen and Abbeville and established the safehouse in Cailly.'

Harry gulped. Voldemort had only taken over France a little less than two years ago. How many of the resistance had already been found and killed? Harry found that he did not want to think about it, but on the other hand, he wanted to know. But he remained silent out of respect for Allard.

'There are not many of us left,' Allard continued quietly, seemingly understanding Harry's unvoiced question. 'At one point, when Voldemort first occupied our country, we had a massive network. Magicals and _moldus_. The numbers must have been at least in the tens of thousands. We used to be able to move dozens of people every night through pre-established safe corridors.'

'And what happened?' Hermione asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

'The GBS and _police politique_ , of course,' Allard answered darkly. 'They infiltrated our ranks, set traps for us. Sometimes outright murder. The GBS especially have no problem with massacring an entire town to get at two operatives. By the end of the first year, we had maybe two thousand left in the entire country.'

'The refugees did not always proceed by this route. This was only established about eight months ago,' Allard added. 'They used to come straight up the coast. There would be a string of safehouses along the way. But after what happened in the past year, that was no longer possible. We were forced to shift to this route. And I do not know for how long this one will last.'

They walked on in grim silence after that, what Allard had just told them weighing down on them all. Harry had naively hoped that, in France, perhaps, there would be a more active and organized resistance movement. But it seemed that Voldemort had been as brutally thorough here just as he had been in Britain.

Harry found that they were proceeding more slowly than the previous night, partly out of increased alert and partly because of the greater group size. Harry, Hermione, and Allard took point, while Daphne and Neville brought up the rear, the three refugees sandwiched between the two groups.

For all their caution, nothing happened the entire night. Twice, they saw armoured cars belonging to the secret police parked in a village off in the distance, but there were no sightings of any officers themselves. At seven the next morning, just before daybreak, the group arrived at the next safehouse in the southern outskirts of Blangy-sur-Bresle.

'Moyenneville is about four hours' walk away,' Allard said as they settled into their new safehouse. 'We can set off at midnight and have more than enough time to make the trip before day breaks. Right now, it is seven-thirty. We have sixteen hours of rest. Three hours' watch each. I'll take the first.'

Harry and Hermione once again set up their magical tent in the rather cramped living room. He was not looking forward to sleep. All night, in the back of his mind, the death of the secret police officer had replayed on an infinite loop. It was not that Harry had never seen death before – he had seen far too much, in fact – but to see the bloody results of _his_ handiwork, and so up-close…

He climbed into his bed. Hermione stopped next to his bunk. On a snap decision, he lifted the covers. Without another word, Hermione climbed in next to him. They held each other tightly and drifted off into a fitful but dreamless sleep.

* * *

The Dark Lord revelled in his own brilliance. The control aspects of the creating spell were working far better than anyone – even he – expected. He had designed the spell to link to the Dark Mark, so that any of his innermost circle would have control over these beings that he had created. He had already created five of them – the Mudblood Russian spy, Ferreica, a half-blood, a squib, and muggle – just so that he could test its effectiveness on different species.

And they were all working perfectly. He watched as Rosier put them through their paces. Their movements were jerky and they stumbled at times, but they were far superior to Inferi, who could only crawl mindlessly and more importantly, could not be commanded by any other wizard except for him. That was a huge disadvantage on the battlefield.

' _Avada Kedavra!_ ' the Dark Lord shouted, pointing his wand in the direction of what used to be Ferreica. The Killing Curse flew true and struck the balding man right in the chest, but he remained upright, not even flinching.

The 'improved Inferi' were unkillable. The Dark Lord knew that even before they were first created, of course. The bodies, being soulless husks, could not be killed by the Killing Curse. But despite knowing that, to see the results of his genius in real life was certainly gratifying.

'Rosier!'

'Yes, My Lord.'

'Bring me Rookwood and Rabastan.'

Rosier ordered the Dark Lord's creations to prostrate on the ground and quickly left the room. Ten minutes later, Rookwood and Lestrange entered and kneeled at the Dark Lord's feet.

'My Lord,' they chorused synchronously.

'The weapon is ready,' the Dark Lord said. 'I have orders for you.'

'At your service, My Lord.'

The Dark Lord turned to the weak-willed Rabastan first. 'Lestrange. The disposable inmate population of the camps.'

'About fifty thousand disposable and eighty thousand total on the entire continent, My Lord,' Lestrange answered.

The Dark Lord ran the numbers in his head. He had about eight hundred fifty thousand muggle troops at his command, while the Russians had around nine hundred thousand – assuming they fully mobilized, which, at this point, was doubtful. If he wanted a solid numbers advantage over the Russians, then he would need at least another one hundred fifty thousand of the Inferi-soldiers. Even if he turned all of the prisoners in his camps into these 'improved Inferi', he would still need seventy thousand more.

'Stop all extermination at the camps,' the Dark Lord ordered. 'Make sure that all inmates stay alive and well-fed.'

Rookwood looked up quizzically. 'My Lord? May I question why you desire this change? They are Mudbloods, blood-traitors – '

'And they will continue to be, Rookwood. They have not suddenly moved up in the natural hierarchy,' the Dark Lord snapped, cutting him off. Rookwood stared back down at his feet. 'These…creations…require healthy human bodies to function. We will be using the bodies of the prisoners for this purpose.'

Rookwood nodded. 'You are right, of course, My Lord. My apologies for my questioning.'

'It is forgiven, Rookwood,' the Dark Lord replied. 'Lestrange, you have mastered both spells?'

'Yes, My Lord.'

'You are to train the SES units to perform these spells,' the Dark Lord ordered. 'They are to use it _exclusively_. Their foreign counterparts are to be trained, as well. I demand seventy thousand by the end of the year at the very latest.'

'What of the camp inmates, My Lord?'

'They are to be weaponized. For the next month, ensure that they are well-fed and healthy. Then, liquidate them using the two spells. That will add another eighty thousand to our ranks.'

'Understood, My Lord,' Lestrange said.

'Then begin. We do not have time to waste.'

* * *

It was five in the morning the next day when the group of eight arrived in Moyenneville. The safehouse there was not much more than a ramshackle barn. The corrugated steel sheeting that made up the walls were rusted and falling apart in places, and the lighting consisted of a single incandescent bulb.

They sat down on the hay, taking drinks of water that Allard had collected from a nearby spring and gnawing on squashed sandwiches. Harry's legs ached. He was sure that there were blisters on the soles of his feet.

' _Leclerc_ is to be here in two and a half hours,' Allard said, checking his watch. He turned to Harry, Hermione, Neville, and Daphne. 'Now that we are here, you have a decision to make.'

Harry looked at him questioningly.

'You must decide. Do you return to Dieppe with me? Or do you move on? We are about one hundred kilometres from what used to be the Belgian border. If you choose to return to Dieppe, it is about a sixty-kilometre walk.'

Harry looked at Hermione, then at Neville and Daphne, searching for an answer, but none of them had any. He turned back to Allard. 'What do you think?'

Allard chuckled a little. 'Selfishly, I would of course prefer that you return to Dieppe,' he said. 'But I do not know if that is the best course of action for _you_. You have seen what the resistance here in France is like. We will not be winning a war against Voldemort on our own. If you want allies, you will need to go east.'

'Where do we go?' Hermione asked quietly. 'Where do we go that Voldemort does not control or influence?'

'The resistance in Germany is still strong,' Allard replied. 'Voldemort controls the major cities there and has pressed the _Bundeswehr_ into his service, but he does not have the hearts and minds of many, and does not hold the countryside. Further east, Russia remains standing, however it had been weakened by Voldemort's influence. You may find important friends there.'

'You're an important friend, too, Hugo,' Neville protested.

Allard smiled sadly. 'I am truly honoured that you can call me a friend, but I am not important. You have seen what I do. My role consists of shunting refugees one hundred kilometres from one safehouse to another. I am not and will never be a leader in this fight.'

'You never know,' Neville muttered. 'I never thought I'd be much of a leader when I was younger…but here I am.'

'We can hope, can we not?' Allard said, disbelief in his own words evident in his voice. 'But let us not get caught up in fantasy when reality clearly paints a different picture.'

'You don't have hope in your own cause?' Harry asked, trying and failing to keep the accusation out of his voice.

Allard shook his head. 'I did not mean that. I believe with my whole heart that what we are doing is important, that without us, there will be no one else. But that does not mean we should delude ourselves into thinking that this "resistance" is anything more than a smuggling and sabotage operation.'

'So you're telling us to move on,' Daphne said flatly.

'Yes, _Mademoiselle_ ,' Allard replied. 'I am more grateful for your help than I could ever put into words, but I think we must part here. Voldemort seeks you, Monsieur Potter. If the rumours are true, you hold the key to defeating him.

Allard sighed. 'As much as I want you to, I cannot in good conscience advise you to stay in a country that is under a martial law lockdown that nobody can see the end of. Head east to Germany, or Russia. The resistance there will rally around you, perhaps. For everyone's good, you must move on.'

'Are you sure?' Hermione asked.

'I am sure.'

'Then where do we go from here?'

'I do not know,' Allard replied. 'I only know my own segment of the journey – for obvious security reasons. Many go through Belgium and Holland to Germany, from what I heard. But there is a shorter way. Go east, cross southern Belgium and what used to be Luxembourg. Trier on the German side of the border used to be a stronghold of the resistance. I do not know if it is today, but if there is any chance at all, I would take it.'

'We'd have to walk all the way there?' Harry asked, feeling a little aghast. His feet were already killing him after a journey of under two hundred kilometres. Germany seemed so much further away.

Allard shrugged. 'I definitely do not advise taking _le TGV_. Not that many of those are running these days anyway. Voldemort prefers to prevent people from moving. Easier to control. Otherwise…if you can figure something out to expedite your journey…by all means.'

The sun soon rose, its golden rays shining through the barn's cobwebbed windows. They ate a breakfast of some apples that Allard had managed to pick from the nearby woods. Hermione went around and magically treated everyone's feet, de-blistering them and reducing the soreness.

At two minutes before nine, Leclerc arrived. He was a tall, olive-skinned, dark-haired man. His wand was held high in his hand. Over his shoulders were slung an assault rifle much like the one Allard had, and another weapon that looked to Harry like a sniper rifle. Everything about him seemed to exude a sort of toughness and resilience.

' _De Gaulle,_ ' he greeted Allard curtly in a quiet baritone after the two of them checked each other's identities.

' _Leclerc_ ,' Allard replied, business-like.

Leclerc gestured at the family huddled together on a makeshift hay bed. ' _C'est eux?_ '

Allard nodded. ' _Oui, ce sont les_ _réfugiés_.'

Leclerc's eyes shifted to Harry's group. ' _Et qui sont-ils?_ '

' _Anglais,_ ' Allard replied. Leclerc's eyes narrowed. ' _Ils sont nos alli_ _é_ _s. J'ai eu besoin de leur aide à cause de notre…régent exalté_.'

Leclerc snorted. ' _Et vous leur faites confiance ?_ '

' _Complètement_ ,' Allard answered. ' _J'ai mes raisons. Je ne pense pas que j'ai besoin de_ _te le dire_ _._ '

Leclerc nodded. ' _C'est risqué, mais c'est ton choix_ _._ _Tant que les réfugiés ne meurent pas...et que nos secrets ne sois pas révélés_ _…je m'en fous._ '

' _Ils ne sont pas._ '

' _Bon.'_ Leclerc looked at Harry again. ' _Et les Anglais ? Ils continueront avec nous ?_ '

Allard shook his head. ' _Ils iront en Allemagne…ou en Russie. Je ne sais pas. On se sépare ici._ '

Leclerc nodded and beckoned the family over. ' _Suivez-moi. Nous devons arriver à la prochaine maison sécurisée au plus tard à midi._ '

The family of three rose and made their way to Leclerc. They each shook Allard's hand, nodded their thanks to Harry's group, and proceeded out of the barn after Leclerc.

'My mission is complete, then,' Allard said, turning back to the foursome. 'We will part ways here. I must leave now so that I can arrive at the safehouse at Valines before noon to return to Dieppe by tonight. You can stay here for the night if you wish. It has been an honour working alongside you.'

'It has been an honour, too,' Harry replied. He held out his hand, and Allard shook it. 'Safe journeys.'

Allard inclined his head. 'Safe journeys to you, too, Monsieur Potter. I hope that we will see each other again. In better times.'

He shook the rest of their hands, and after leaving a few apples for them, turned and left the barn, returning to his world and his calling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hugo Allard was the first 'original character' that I have ever written (Daphne doesn't count since she has been characterized thoroughly by the fandom already). I hope you liked him, or at least his character.
> 
> Thank you to maschl for all his help with almost every aspect of this story. Thank you to W H Rutledge for his beta work and Stag for correcting my abysmal French. If you have not already, go check out maschl's I See No Difference as well as W H Rutledge's A Grim Encounter!
> 
> Translations – all from French:
> 
> Qui sont-ils = Who are they?
> 
> Ils sont Anglais. Ils sont mes alliés. J'ai besoin de leur aide dans notre…climat actuel. = They are British. They are my allies. I need their help in our…present climate.
> 
> Si vous leur faites confiance… = If you trust them…
> 
> Préparez-vous à partir dans dix minutes. = Prepare to leave in ten minutes.
> 
> Anglais. Ils sont notre allies. J'ai eu besoin de leur aide à cause de notre…régent exalté. = British. They are our allies. I needed their help thanks to our…exalted regent.
> 
> J'ai mes raisons. Je ne pense pas que j'ai besoin de te le dire. = I have my reasons. I do not think I need to tell you.
> 
> C'est risqué, mais c'est ton choix. Tant que les réfugiés ne meurent pas...et que nos secrets ne sois pas révélés …je m'en fous. = That's your risk, but that's your choice. As long as the refugees are not dead…and our secrets are not revealed…I don't give a damn.
> 
> Et les Anglais ? Ils continueront avec nous ? = And the Britons? Will the continue with us?
> 
> Ils iront en Allemagne…ou en Russie. Je ne sais pas. On se sépare ici. = They are heading to Germany…or Russia. I don't know. We are parting here.
> 
> Suivez-moi. Nous devons arriver à la prochaine maison sécurisée au plus tard à midi. = With me. We need to arrive at the next safehouse by noon.


	9. VIII: Égorger vos fils, vos compagnes!

They spent the night in the barn, sleeping on piles of hay arranged into makeshift beds. They took turns keeping watch, but all was quiet and still through the mid-summer French night. The last day and night they had passed here were almost eerily peaceful. On one hand, Harry could not complain about getting some well-needed rest, but on the other, he could not help but feel that something was afoot, that danger was lurking close by.

When Harry woke, the sun was already shining radiantly through the walls of the derelict barn. His left arm was numb. When he opened his eyes a little more, he found Hermione lying on it and using his chest as a pillow.

Hermione shifted a little. 'Harry?' she mumbled groggily.

'That's me.'

'You're awake?'

'No, you're just hearing voices,' Harry teased.

Hermione smacked him on the chest lightly. 'Shut up.'

'Slept well?' Harry asked.

'Better than I have since we arrived,' Hermione replied into his chest. 'Must be the open air.'

'Or maybe the fact that Neville and Daph had the decency to not go at it in the same room as us,' Harry chortled.

Hermione snorted. 'Or maybe they'd finally learned to use a Imperturbable Charm.'

'I heard that!' Daphne called, mock-indignantly. 'And for your information, I learned how to use the Imperturbable Charm in fifth year like the rest of you.'

'Then learn to use it!' Harry replied. 'And don't subject the rest of us to the noises resulting from all your weird fantasies.'

'Like you two do, you mean?'

Harry could almost feel Hermione's blush radiating from her.

The four of them took improvised showers – which consisted of conjuring cold water and dumping it over each other. Harry attempted to 'brush his teeth' by casting _Scourgify_ on his mouth. He choked on the bubbles for nearly twenty seconds before Hermione rescued him, conjuring a toothbrush and telling him off for doing something so obviously nonsensical.

They ate a breakfast of roasted fish that Neville had Summoned from a nearby pond and passed a light-hearted morning. They had a lunch of some canned spaghetti, and it was not until after they were all sated that Harry finally broached the question that was on all of their minds.

'We need to leave soon,' he said. 'But we need to decide where to go and how.'

'Allard told us to go east, didn't he?' Hermione replied, raising an eyebrow.

Harry sighed. 'He did, but he gave us nothing besides the name of one city. We don't know the country like he does. How exactly are we going to drag ourselves three hundred kilometres to Germany?'

He could see Hermione go into 'planning mode'. 'We'll need maps,' she said. 'Road maps, topographical maps, everything. We can find them in any store, I think. We have food, shelter, and weapons. That's not a problem. The only thing we don't know is…'

'Where our enemies are,' Daphne finished ominously. 'And that happens to be the one thing we _need_ to know but we can't find out.'

'We should've asked Allard,' Harry muttered, regretting that he had not asked that specific question earlier.

'I'm not sure even he knows what it's like outside his "territory",' Hermione said sadly. 'He basically said it himself…how the resistance didn't pass information between "cells" for security. I don't know if he knew anything more, and even if he did, I don't know if he could even tell us.'

'So we're in the dark,' Neville murmured.

'We're in the dark,' Hermione echoed grimly. 'But I don't see any other course of action for us except to take Allard's advice and head on east.'

'Then let's focus on what we can do first,' Harry suggested. 'We need maps and information. How do we get that?'

Hermione nibbled her lower lip. 'There's a larger city to the north of here…I saw it on Allard's map…Abbeville, I think. We might be able to find…books…or maps…or something…there.'

'It'd be a huge risk to take, though,' Harry said sceptically. 'If there're big groups of secret police in the small towns, they'd be running around everywhere in a big city.'

'Do we have any other options?' Daphne asked. 'We can't proceed not knowing where we're going. We can't stumble around the country, getting into fights we don't need to get into. Unless anyone knows another way of getting that information…Hermione's idea is the best we've got.'

Harry sighed. He disliked taking a risk like that and putting all their lives at risk. But try as he might, he could not come up with a better solution. He had to concede that Daphne was right…that Hermione's plan was the best they had.

'We'll go, then,' he said quietly. 'But we'll need to be even more careful than we were before. We'll need Disillusionments, disguises…everything.'

An hour-and-a-half walk later, the foursome found themselves on the outskirts of a small city. They had assumed their disguises again – Daphne and Neville as brunettes and Harry and Hermione as blonds – and were under the Disillusionment Charm, which they re-cast on themselves at regular intervals. Allard's lessons had stuck on them.

'There's a road checkpoint over there,' Hermione said, pointing underneath a railroad overpass. She swore under her breath. 'That seems like the only way into the city.'

Harry's cursory survey confirmed what Hermione saw. 'Do we try to sneak through?'

Hermione shook her head. 'Bad idea. What if there's a disspelling ward right in front? The GBS would've pre-emptively set up these kinds of things.'

'Where do we go, then?'

Hermione swallowed. 'We run right across the railroad tracks.'

Harry goggled at her. 'Did I just hear you right?'

'We should be fine…if we look both ways before crossing…' Hermione muttered nervously. 'Mum would kill me if she knew…but what else could we do?'

No one gave a reply.

'Let's go, then,' Harry said decisively. 'And not waste any more time.'

The four of them proceeded cautiously through the fields in front of the railway mainline, replenishing their Disillusionment Charms every five minutes or so. It took another half hour for them to reach the railroad tracks. Harry looked both ways. There were no trains in either direction.

'On three,' he said, taking a deep breath. 'One…two…three!'

They ran across as fast as they could, crossing four sets of tracks. As Harry crossed the third set, he suddenly felt a warm trickle down his back.

'The Disillusionments!' he shouted, hitting the ground on the other side of the railway line.

Harry turned around and re-cast the charms on the others the moment they reached the other side. At the precise moment he re-cast the final Disillusionment Charm on Neville, there came an ear-splitting siren sound.

'They know!' Hermione yelled over the deafening noise. 'They know we crossed the wards!'

Harry looked around him. In front of him were the railroad tracks and the ward line, to his left and right were open ground. Behind him stood a tall, chain-link fence. He made a split-second decision.

'Jump the fence!' Harry shouted. Without another second of thought, he turned around and vaulted over the fence. He found himself in an expansive rear garden. A house stood a distance away. Beyond it, Harry could see a narrow boulevard. Beyond that was a narrow river.

They charged forward through the garden and out onto the street. Across the narrow river was a small patch of woods. Now, in addition to the sirens set off by the wards, Harry could hear the shrill horns of the type that the secret police mounted on their armoured vehicles. Instinctively, he knew that they would be onto them in mere minutes. They had to cross the river.

'Let's get across, quick!'

'How?'

'We swim, damn it!'

Harry waded into the river. It was thankfully not too deep – the water came up to just around his neck. He began to swim, but with his rucksack on his back and his rifle slung around his shoulders, it was difficult. They took care to move slowly, not disturbing the water too much so as to not alert any onlookers to their presence.

They reached the other side after a minute or so of struggle. Harry cast Drying and Warming Charms on everyone as they climbed out. They made it across not a minute too soon – as the four of them clambered through the bushy undergrowth, Harry heard the shrill sirens of the secret police's armoured cars turn onto the street that they had just left.

Doors opened and slammed shut. Jackboots hit the pavement with loud cracks. Rifles were loaded and readied.

Harry pulled aside a little of the bush to peek across over on the other side of the river. He saw that the others were copying them, morbid curiosity overcoming their sense of caution.

Two black armoured cars were stopped directly across them. Around them were no less than ten secret police officers, dressed in all black. In their midst, Harry could also see several GBS, dressed in their dark green 'muggle uniforms', cowering behind the muggle secret police, blatantly using them as human shields.

' _L'alarme a sonné ici_ ,' one of the GBS barked. ' _Sécurisez la rue. Ils doivent être près.'_

From his limited understanding of French, it appeared to Harry that the GBS wizard believed that the intruders were still on the other side of the river, hiding along the street. He heard Hermione breathe a small sigh of temporarily relief at the GBS thug's assumption.

They waited with bated breath, not daring to move for fear of drawing attention to themselves. One of the GBS disappeared into the garden of one of the houses, presumably to examine the wards set along the railway line behind it. The secret police, meanwhile, began forcibly searching every house along the street, to the barely concealed terror of their residents. It was thirty minutes later before the thugs reconvened, empty-handed.

' _Nous n'avons pas trouvé les intrus,_ ' one of the secret police said to the man that Harry presumed to be the head of the GBS detachment. ' _Peut-être…c'était une fausse alarme ?_ '

' _C'est possible_ ,' the lead thug replied. ' _Les alarmes se sont déjà trompées quatre fois le mois dernier, bordel. Mais nous ne pouvons pas retourner sans une arrestation. Je ne serai pas promu._ '

The secret police officer cackled. ' _C'est facile, putain. Nous pouvons appréhender une personne au hasard, et tu peux la juger…ou exécuter…tout ce que tu veux.'_

Harry heard Hermione gasp in horror at that. 'What happened? What did he say?' he asked.

'They…they're going to arrest…or kill…some random person,' Hermione breathed, sounding terrified and disgusted at the same time. 'Just so that they don't go home empty-handed. The GBS brute said he wouldn't be promoted if that happened.'

'What do we do?' Neville hissed. 'We can't just let them kill him or her.'

Harry considered what they could do. They could fight off the thugs from their side of the river, but that would reveal their position and put them all in danger. But to not act…was it justifiable?

Harry wrestled with his conscience in silence, searching for the right thing to do. But as it turned out, the matter was never in his hands in the first place.

' _Je n'ai rien fait !_ ' a voice suddenly shrieked. ' _Je ne compris pas pourquoi vous m'arrêtez !_ '

' _Tais-toi !_ ' the voice of the secret police officer spat. ' _Tu penses que c'était amusant de déclencher les alarmes ?_ _Ce n'est pas un jeu, garçon idiot !_ '

The thug and the 'suspect' came into view. Harry felt the blood flow out of his face in his horror. The scapegoat was no more than a boy, perhaps around fifteen or sixteen. On his face was a mingled look of resignation and horror.

' _Je n'ai fait rien !_ ' the boy repeated, his voice resembling more of a whimper this time. ' _Je n'ai même pas quitt_ _é_ _la maison ! Ce n'était pas moi !_ '

' _Nous déciderons si c'était toi_ ,' the GBS thug said smoothly, grinning savagely at the hapless boy. ' _T'es en état d'arrestation._ '

' _Ce n'était pas moi !_ ' the boy wailed. One of the secret police officers slapped him across the face, and he fell silent. The lead GBS thug shoved him roughly into one of the armoured cars and got in after him. The moment the last secret police officer got on the armoured cars, they drove away from the scene of the crime, taking the boy off to his near certain death.

* * *

The Dark Lord looked out at the vast field. Standing in rough formation were his first one thousand Inferi-soldiers. They were dressed in surplus muggle army uniforms and armed with clubs, knives, and spears. Their movements were not refined enough to use any other type of muggle weapons, and they, being still soulless husks, had no magic they could use in the Dark Lord's service.

Not that the Dark Lord would consider giving these rabble – mostly composed of former muggles, Mudbloods, and blood-traitors – any coveted magic, anyway.

'They are ready for action, My Lord,' Rabastan Lestrange said, standing to his side. 'They require no training – not that unrefined masses like them can be trained – and will obey our every command.'

'We need more numbers,' the Dark Lord hissed. 'You took one week to produce one thousand. May I remind you that – '

'Word has already been passed to the GBS in France and the SA in Germany, My Lord,' the spineless worm interrupted, desperately trying to please him. 'Our SES officers are already in Spain, training the UEE, and in Italy, the GAS. Production will increase quickly, My Lord.'

'Make sure it does,' the Dark Lord snapped. 'The deadline for the end of the year is firm, Lestrange. This is absolutely essential. Do not fail me. It may well be the last thing you ever do.'

'Y-Yes, My Lord,' Lestrange stammered, taking a step back. 'I will not fail you, My Lord.'

'My Lord?' Rookwood spoke up.

'Speak, Rookwood.'

'My Lord, I suggest that the first batch be used in a…test attack,' Rookwood said.

'There are not enough numbers, Rookwood. Did you hear what I said to Lestrange?'

Rookwood nodded. 'Yes, My Lord. I do not mean an attack on Russia, My Lord…but I think it would be…wise…to use the forces in a…trial operation…before the main attack.'

The Dark Lord narrowed his eyes. 'Are you suggesting that the Dark Lord's creations can be faulty, Rookwood?'

'Most certainly not, My Lord,' Rookwood stammered immediately, emphatically shaking his head. 'However, do you not think it will be wise to…get a sense of their capabilities…in the real world?'

The Dark Lord was intrigued. He could see Rookwood's line of thinking. He was sure of his creations' abilities in combat, yet what was the harm in a real-world trial? Was it not advantageous to assess the performance of his superweapons so that he could learn how to best use them?

'Yes…very well…you may be right…' the Dark Lord said. 'How do you suggest they be used?'

'My Lord…if I may…this is an excellent opportunity to put down some of the counter-revolutionaries in Germany,' Rookwood replied. 'It appears, according to our spies, that the city of Saarlouis near the French border is infested with rebels and scum but is also an easy target without too heavy defences. We can use these…soldiers…to clean out the undesirables holed up there.'

'You have a plan, Rookwood?'

Rookwood nodded. 'Yes, My Lord.'

'Then you will have the troops and resources,' the Dark Lord said. 'You are free to use them as you wish. I do not require the return of these…equipment.'

* * *

Harry, Hermione, Neville, and Daphne had no more run-ins with the secret police for the rest of their 'information-gathering mission' – not that that was of any comfort to Harry. He could not help but replay again and again the arbitrary arrest and likely execution of the innocent boy in his head. What if he had done something instead of selfishly sitting by and not acting?

_I did nothing in order to protect Hermione_ , he reminded himself. _If I shot them, and they captured us, she would have been in danger_.

And now he was weighing lives. Hermione was the most important person in his world, but was Harry valuing her life far above everyone else's?

The answer was obvious, yet Harry was not sure if he liked it.

Their mission had been a success. They had found – and been forced to steal – maps of France, Belgium, and Germany from a local bookstore. Based on a cursory examination, they had decided to head east out of Abbeville. They had even escaped from the city successfully and cleanly, not tripping any alarm wards or alerting any guards on their way out.

But even that success was not much comfort to Harry. It was his fault. He had been the one who had made the final decision to go to Abbeville. And his decision had – however indirectly, but still – cost an innocent life.

They pitched their tent in a town about two hours' walk east of Abbeville. Harry did the protective enchantments by himself, wanting to spend some time alone. He ate dinner in silence and sat stoically while the others pored over the maps, planning their next move.

At ten, Neville went outside the tent to take the first watch, and Harry retired to his bunk, sitting and staring at the canvas wall opposite in silence. On one hand, he wanted nothing less than to go to sleep and let this day end. Yet, on the other, he dreaded the night. No doubt, the boy's terrified screaming was going to come back to him in his dreams. Maybe Luna's death, too. Or maybe Susan's terrible death all those years ago. New experiences always dug up old ones from the skeletons-filled closet that was his mind.

Hermione sat down next to him and put a consoling arm around his waist, leaning her head on his shoulder. 'It wasn't your fault, Harry,' she said softly.

Harry said nothing. He loved Hermione, but to him, those sounded like empty words.

Hermione took a deep breath. 'You know they would've done something like that either way, whether they had an excuse to or not. When have they ever needed a reason to murder, rape, and torture?'

'But I gave them a convenient excuse,' Harry muttered. 'Maybe _he_ wouldn't have died…or maybe they wouldn't have murdered today at all. Maybe they'd…pillage a home…and be happy with it…and not resort to murder to pleasure themselves.'

'No, Harry. You did not give them a "convenient excuse". And it's not _you_ ,' Hermione admonished gently. 'If anything, it's _us_.'

'You didn't make the final decision to go.'

'It was my idea in the first place,' Hermione reminded him.

'And what's your point?'

Hermione gently squeezed him around the waist. 'My point is that you aren't the exclusive "blame sponge" here. If – if – anyone's to blame, it's all of us together.'

'I wanted to shoot him,' Harry growled through gritted teeth. 'I wanted to kill them all. And I stayed my hand…'

'You know that would've just made everything worse.'

Harry stared at her. 'How?'

'Remember what Allard kept saying to us? "Don't shoot anyone except when you absolutely must." You know why, right?'

'Because it'd reveal our position?'

Hermione shook her head. 'Because it'd initiate revenge killings. We kill one of them, they'll kill five more innocents in reply. Not only would we probably not have ended up preventing the boy's death, but we would've also condemned far more people in the process.'

'So you're saying that I was right not to act,' Harry summed up.

Hermione looked stricken. 'I'm not saying it was right. I'm saying that you – we – had to make horrible choices and that you chose the least terrible of the terrible options,' she said carefully. 'Think about it, Harry. If that GBS thug was willing to murder to earn a promotion…what would they do to avenge us killing some of their own?'

'Right,' Harry muttered, defeated.

Hermione rubbed his back comfortingly. 'We can't save every life, Harry. We just have to…do the best we can do.'

Harry nodded mutely. 'At least it wasn't all in vain.'

'We got what we went for,' Hermione agreed. 'What we needed.'

'And did you three decide where we need to go?'

'I think so,' Hermione replied tentatively. 'We'll continue southeast towards Amiens, then we'll due east towards the border. I think it's better that we follow the roads rather than try to trek through the forests…we'll have some sense of direction, at least.'

'How long?'

'Ten to twelve days of walking,' Hermione said in a weak voice. 'It's not going to be a short trip…we're hiking about the distance from London to Manchester…'

Harry shrugged. 'It's not like we have any other options, is it?'

'No…I've thought about it and I haven't any ideas how to make things quicker without being detected… And as it is, we'll have to be extremely careful to not get caught.'

'We shouldn't really have a problem at that,' Harry said, chuckling dryly. 'We must've spent half our lives already being on the run.'

'Practice makes perfect,' Hermione said, smiling darkly.

They sat together for a long time, cuddling silently, wrapped up in their own thoughts. Despite Hermione's best efforts, the presumed death of the boy was still etched stubbornly into his mind. He knew that people died, but to see the implied death with his own eyes…knowing that he was powerless to prevent it. How many was it now that he had watched die? How many would haunt his nightmares?

Hermione must have noticed his continued distress. She reached into her bag and pulled out a bottle of muggle pills. 'This might help you sleep,' she said, holding it out to him. 'It's nowhere near as good as potions…but it's what we can get…'

Harry nodded, conjured a goblet of water, and swallowed one of the pills. He looked at Hermione pleadingly. 'Stay?'

Hermione burrowed her face into his chest. 'Always.'

* * *

Dietmar Neumayer was at his home, preparing lunch, when the sirens sounded.

He was practised at his response. Dietmar's city, Saarlouis, was one of the few that was still mostly held by the resistance. The _Geheimpolizei_ harassed his city nearly once every two weeks. There was nothing to worry about. The resistance's soldiers will battle them off in a few hours.

Dietmar stepped away from the kitchen for a minute to grab his Kalashnikov. Former East German weapons were, thankfully for the resistance, still quite easy to come by. The resistance had insisted on arming every citizen over the age of eighteen, just in case a desperate defence of the city was required.

Not that it ever was. Never once had the enemy even come close to taking the city. Dietmar set aside his assault rifle on the countertop and returned to his cooking, a little on edge, but no more nervous than he was during a usual attack.

Suddenly, he heard screams coming from out on the street. A cold shock went down Dietmar's spine. Could it be that the _Geheimpolizei_ have actually had some success this time? He decided to investigate. He turned off the stovetop, picked up his assault rifle, and dashed out the door.

He charged out onto the street, rifle ready. But as he looked around, he saw nothing in either direction. Perhaps it was just a terrified child, he thought.

He was prepared to return inside when another, different, shriek came from to his left. He turned in the sound's direction. A young girl, about ten to eleven, it appeared, was pointing at the sky, a terrified look on her face.

Dietmar looked up. What he saw chilled him to the bones. Flying in formation at low altitude were more than fifteen fighter-bombers, all bearing the morbid skull-and-snake roundel of the Imperial Air Force. He could see that they were all heavily laden with bombs on their wings.

This was not a show of force, he knew at once. This was an all-out attack. The anti-aircraft guns opened fire, yellow and white tracers shining brightly against the overcast sky. One of the aircraft was hit by a shell. Its right wing was torn off and it spiralled to earth, crashing in an enormous, bright orange fireball.

Dietmar raised his assault rifle into the air. Consciously, he knew that it was beyond useless to shoot at jet fighter-bombers with a rifle round, but his subconscious pushed him to do something anyway. He squeezed the trigger and fired all thirty rounds in one burst, hitting nothing.

A whistling sound. Dietmar could see black shapes dropping from the skies. The bombs were beginning to fall. They burst in the air in a puff of smoke, releasing bright, star-like embers trailing white smoke. Dietmar's jaw dropped in horror.

'Get inside!' he shouted. 'They're dropping white phosphorous on us!'

Dietmar dashed inside not a moment too soon. Some of the white phosphorous hit a spot mere metres from where he was standing, the chunk breaking apart into smaller bits upon impact that burned just as brightly as their parent. Another chunk hit the roof of a house diagonally across the street from Dietmar. The roof was set alight in seconds.

Another plane fell to anti-aircraft fire, but Dietmar could see that it was fruitless. The bombers were right on top of them now, dropping their payloads. There were too many to shoot down, too many to stop. More white phosphorus rained down on the city, now joined by napalm. The anti-aircraft guns had all but fallen silent now, their gunners killed or forced to flee. Dietmar could see a firestorm growing in the distance.

And suddenly, the bombing stopped. Dietmar looked out the window. The jets had passed the city now. Their attack was complete, and their objective achieved with brutal efficiency.

Dietmar's own house was somehow spared, but others were not. The firestorm was spreading now. Dietmar could hear the shrieks of agony of those who were unlucky enough to be caught in its way, or trapped in their homes, or otherwise unable to flee, as they were burned alive.

He saw three people emerge from a home across the street. He recognized them as the Hofmanns. He dashed out onto the street again, rifle in hand and braving the encroaching flames. He needed to help them. They had a young son who was barely ten…

And then, Dietmar heard a terrifying cry. His head snapped in the direction where the sound had come from. There, on the hillside above, stood what must have been at least a hundred soldiers, clad in Imperial Army uniforms.

Dietmar cursed himself for not having expected this. The firebombing was just to soften up the resistance so that the army could take the town. And he had wasted one of his three precious magazines shooting into the air. How was he going to defend his city? How was he going to get through this alive?

He was not.

The soldiers charged down the mountainside. Dietmar levelled his AK, waiting for them to get closer. He was going to die. He was sure of it. But he was going to go down like a spartan warrior.

Dietmar waited as the soldiers closed in. He wondered why they had not yet opened fire. He was holding an assault rifle, aiming directly at them. He was a clear threat. And he was alone. Why had they not attacked?

And then, as they got even closer – they were only two streets away now – Dietmar saw that they were not holding guns at all. Instead, in their hands were spears, clubs, or knives. What was happening? Why were these soldiers so poorly armed and equipped?

His confusion gave way to decisiveness, however, when one of the soldiers raised his club, heading straight for young Helmut Hofmann. Dietmar aimed carefully and squeezed the trigger once. There was a spatter of blood. He had hit the man in the abdomen.

But the soldier did not go down. Instead, he staggered a little and continued running at the boy as if nothing at all had happened to him. What was going on? Were these soldiers somehow so fanatical that they did not feel pain?

Dietmar fired again, aiming for the chest. The bullet hit the soldier directly over his right lung, but once again, he did not go down, only staggering a little. Desperate, Dietmar aimed at the head and held down the trigger, letting five or six rounds fly. One of them hit the soldier in the left eye, and he finally died, hitting the ground with a thud.

The fanatical soldiers continued advancing. They were only one street away now. He shot another one of them in the chest, but he, like his comrade earlier, did not fall.

Somehow, these soldiers seemed invincible to being hit anywhere but the head.

Dietmar moved the barrel of his rifle up, aiming carefully between the soldier's eyes. He fired. Miss. He adjusted his aim. Another miss. He shot a third time, this time hitting the man in the lower forehead, at last downing him.

Two different voices shrieked with terrible pain. Dietmar knew instinctively that the Hofmanns were being slaughtered. But he could not help them. He was too busy dealing with the immediate danger in front of him to render them any sort of aid.

Dietmar fired again, and by sheer luck, hit one of the knife-wielding soldiers in the head, killing him. He shot several more times, managing to down one more soldier before his ammunition ran out. He reloaded hastily. The soldiers were less than twenty metres away now. In desperation, he aimed at head level and held down the trigger, firing in full auto, controlling the recoil as best he could. Four soldiers fell.

Ten metres.

Five metres.

In desperation, Dietmar abandoned all caution and charged, holding his Kalashnikov in front of him like a spear of his own. He drove the slanted muzzle directly into one of the soldiers' eyes and pushed the barrel in as far as it could go. The man fell, not making a sound as he died. Dietmar withdrew his AK and raised it again, aiming for a second target.

Dietmar felt a sudden warmth around his abdomen. He looked down, and to his horror, saw the wooden shaft of a spear sticking out. It and his clothes were both soaked red in his blood. He looked up, and he saw the horrifyingly blank face of the soldier that had just mortally wounded him. The man looked like he had no thoughts whatsoever, no emotions, no soul. Never mind that he was on the brink of death, Dietmar found that he could not tear his eyes away from the most terrifying sight he had ever witnessed in his soon-to-be-over life.

He did not feel the second spear as it penetrated his chest from behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As if it could get any darker. This is not even the darkest chapter I have planned.
> 
> Thank you to maschl for all his help with almost every aspect of this story. Thank you to W H Rutledge for his beta work and Stag for correcting my abysmal French. If you have not already, go check out maschl's I See No Difference as well as W H Rutledge's A Grim Encounter!
> 
> Translations – all from French:
> 
> L'alarme a sonné ici. Sécurisez la rue. Ils doivent être près. = The alarm sounded here. Secure the street. They must be near.
> 
> Nous n'avons pas trouvé les intrus. Peut-être…c'était une fausse alarme ? = We did not find the intruders. Could the…alarm be false?
> 
> C'est possible. Les alarmes se sont déjà trompées quatre fois le mois dernier, bordel. Mais nous ne pouvons pas retourner sans une arrestation. Je ne serai pas promu. = It's possible. The alarms have been mistaken four times in the last month, [swear]. But we cannot return without an arrest. I won't be promoted.
> 
> C'est facile, putain. Nous pouvons appréhender une personne au hasard, et tu peux la juger…ou exécuter…tout ce que tu veux. = That's easy, [swear]. We can arrest someone at random, and you can try him…or execute him…whatever you'd like.
> 
> Je n'ai rien fait ! = I did not do anything!
> 
> Je ne compris pas pourquoi vous m'arrêtez ! = I do not understand why you're arresting me!
> 
> Tais-toi ! Tu penses que c'était amusant de déclencher les alarmes ? Ce n'est pas un jeu, garçon idiot ! = Shut up! You think it was funny to set off the alarms? This isn't a game, idiot boy!
> 
> Je n'ai même pas quitté la maison ! Ce n'était pas moi ! = I didn't even leave the house! It wasn't me!
> 
> Nous déciderons si c'était toi. T'es en état d'arrestation. = We will decide if it was you. You are under arrest.


	10. IX: We shall stain the tyrants' thrones...

'The first shipment of prisoners from France, My Lord,' Rookwood said. 'They have…requested our help…in their liquidation.'

The Dark Lord looked out at the muggle railyard. Trains were stopping, their brakes screeching as they came to a halt. The doors of the cattle cars slid open, revealing masses of prisoners wearing orange rags. Secret police and SES officers rushed up, roughly herding the rabble from the wagons and forcing them into a designated holding area.

'How many?'

'One thousand six hundred eighty-three, My Lord,' Rookwood answered promptly. 'More than enough to make up for the…equipment losses…at Saarlouis.'

'And how many have our territories managed to produce?' the Dark Lord asked.

'Seven hundred in France, five hundred in Germany, eight hundred in Spain, and seven hundred in Italy,' Rookwood replied. 'And about four hundred in all of our other territories combined, My Lord.'

'But you have not managed to salvage a single unit at Saarlouis?' the Dark Lord demanded. Granted, one thousand Inferi-soldiers were not much of a loss, but he was still wary of squandering his resources.

Rookwood gulped. 'No, My Lord. They were all burnt beyond repair by the fires.'

The Dark Lord nodded. He was not much concerned with the losses, but rather with the manner with which they were lost. It was not that he cared for the 'soldiers'. They were just soulless husks made from the lowest of the rubble, after all. But he knew from his days growing up in the orphanage in the middle of a global muggle war that the muggles often waged war with fire. He would need to make sure that his creations could, if not _survive through_ , at least last longer if they faced fire-based weaponry.

The holding area was rapidly filling up, but the prisoners continued coming off the train. The SES and secret police had attempted to line them up in an orderly fashion – like muggles and filth were capable of such – but now, they had all but given up. Prisoners were being piled on top of each other, forming mountains of indistinguishable bodies.

'Do not kill them!' Rookwood shouted, his _Sonorus_ -amplified voice carrying far across the flat rail yard. 'Be careful! They need to be alive! If too many of them end up dead, there will be consequences!'

The SES and secret police were more careful after that.

When the last railcar had been unloaded, the secret police piled into their armoured cars and left, their part of the mission done. The secret police were effective and loyal, but they were still muggles. They could not be allowed to witness or feel the sacred art that was magic.

Rookwood and the Dark Lord personally descended into the train yard. There, the lead SES officer – a lieutenant – greeted them, bowing deeply in front of each of them before kneeling.

'One thousand six hundred sixty-eight, My Lord,' he reported. 'We found four dead bodies on the ship and eleven more on the train. They're all either gathered here or dead.'

'You have done your duty admirably,' the Dark Lord said. 'You have earned a promotion from the Dark Lord himself.' He waved his wand and the man's insignia magically changed.

'Thank you, My Lord,' the now-captain gushed. 'At your service, My Lord.'

'The Dark Lord thanks you for your devotion. Stand.'

The man obediently rose. 'Yes, My Lord?'

'Instruct your men to begin processing this shipment,' the Dark Lord instructed. 'I expect the finished product at most a week from today. Of course, expedience will be generously rewarded.'

'My men will finish processing in three days, My Lord,' the captain said confidently. The Dark Lord smiled internally. Reward was sometimes as good of a motivator as fear.

'You know where to deliver them?' The captain nodded emphatically. The Dark Lord gestured to the trains. 'Deliver them by train. And ensure that as few are damaged as possible.'

'Of course, My Lord.'

* * *

Hugo Allard crossed the last stretch of field to the Moyenneville barn slowly and carefully, his FAMAS held aloft and looking out for any enemy activity. The _police politique_ and GBS had become less active in the week or so since he had last been here – slightly less active, but all the same.

He was escorting Madeleine, a half-blood witch no more than his age. She had apparently been caught distributing anti-Voldemort propaganda leaflets in the south of the country. As admirable as that was, Hugo secretly thought that it was rather brash and careless of her to undertake resistance this way. But he suppressed that unbidden thought. Who was he to judge one of the last remaining people who was willing to stand up to Voldemort's reign?

The two crossed the field without disturbance, and Hugo pushed open the barn doors and entered. The place looked different than the one that he had left. The hay was no longer strewn all over the ground, but rather, was arranged into neat piles that more or less resembled beds and chairs. It seemed that Harry Potter and his group had cleaned the place up before they had left. Judging by the few remaining pieces of rubbish on the floor and the small fire pit in the centre, though, it seemed that they had stayed for an extra night after Hugo had left. He did the math in his head. They had been gone for six days. He wondered where they were now. Were they safe? Were they still alive? Had they made it to Germany?

'This is the place?' Madeleine asked.

Hugo nodded. He checked his watch. 'It's four right now. _Leclerc_ should be here in about five hours. You should rest. He will insist that you proceed to the next safehouse immediately after I hand you over.'

Madeleine nodded, yawning. She set her pistol down on a shelf and laid down on one of the makeshift straw beds. Hugo sat down next to the barn door and laid his rifle down across his lap. He was tired, but he knew that he could rest later at his Valines safehouse. Right now, he needed to be on guard.

The sun slowly rose over the eastern horizon, gradually coming over the top of the treeline. Hugo went out to the nearby woods and gathered some apples, casting several cleaning charms on them and bringing them back to the barn. Breakfast.

When he returned, Madeleine had woken up and was sitting on the hay 'bed'. Hugo handed her two apples, and she nodded her silent thanks. He checked his watch. It was eight-forty. _Leclerc_ should be here any minute now. He was always early.

Hugo waited patiently. Eight-fifty. _Leclerc_ was not here yet. Perhaps he had to take a detour to avoid some GBS. Hugo had no reason to be too worried.

Eight fifty-five. Still no sign of _Leclerc_. By now, he should have arrived, but there was as of yet no sign of the man.

The minute hand reached twelve. There was no sign of _Leclerc_. Hugo was getting worried now. Protocol demanded arrival, at the very latest, at the designated time. Could he have been captured? Hugo did not even want to think it was possible.

'He was supposed to be here five minutes ago, was he not?' Madeleine asked as the clock ticked towards nine-o-five.

Hugo nodded anxiously. 'He was. He is never late. I don't understand.'

Madeleine opened her mouth, but ended up saying nothing. She need not have. Hugo knew exactly what she was going to say.

Nine-ten. Still no sign of _Leclerc_. Hugo began pondering the dark possibilities behind _Leclerc_ 's tardiness. He took the safety off his FAMAS and gripped it tightly in his hands, readying himself. A click told him that Madeline had loaded her own pistol.

'Get behind cover,' he hissed to Madeleine. The woman did so without question, ducking behind one of the concrete supports on the side of the barn. Hugo took cover behind the one opposite her, aiming his rifle at the barn door, which was open slightly ajar.

Nine-fifteen. Hugo was not sure of what to do. Should he lead Madeleine away from the barn and to another safehouse? He decided against it. If _Leclerc_ really had been captured or compromised, then what was to say that the _police politique_ were not waiting right outside for them to do exactly that?

Suddenly, Hugo heard hushed voices emanating through the broken walls of the ramshackle barn. He could not distinguish what they were saying, but the harshness of their tone sent a chill down Hugo's spine. No one else should be here – or even know that this place was anything more than a derelict, abandoned barn. It had to be the _police politique_ – or worse, the GBS.

Two whooshing sounds, followed a split-second later by two explosions on either side of the barn. They were using rocket launchers against them. Debris and dust from the explosion flew everywhere, obscuring Hugo's vision. He had to cover his eyes and face with his arms as shrapnel flew everywhere.

Hugo got to his senses. Aided by the direction of the sunlight, he could see the silhouette of a man stepping through the hole in the barn wall opposite him. Without needing to think, he levelled his FAMAS at the man and opened fire. The man yelled and staggered as he was hit by what must have been no less than six rounds, and collapsed to the ground.

Madeleine had also taken to shooting, through the hole on Hugo's side of the barn. Another man stepped through in front of Hugo, and he gunned him down with the remainder of his magazine. He reloaded and almost casually cut down the next man who tried to step through.

There was a loud bang, and the barn doors were thrown wide open. Hugo could vaguely see movement through the dust cloud, and he sprayed the rest of his magazine in that direction. A yelp told him that he had managed to hit.

The men at the door shouted something to each other, and a second later, Hugo heard two metallic clinking sounds.

'Grenades!' he shouted, ducking behind his cover. A few seconds later, the grenades exploded. Madeleine gave a yelp. Hugo turned to her. She was clutching her left forearm. Blood was seeping into her clothes. She had been hit by shrapnel.

But Hugo could not help her. Not while they were still fighting. He peeked out. Two men had stepped through the hole opposite him. The dust was clearing now, but he was, thankfully, still afforded some concealment. He opened fire at both of the _police politique_ officers, and both went down in a heap next to their comrades.

Suddenly, a ripping sound, followed by a series of bullet impact sounds on the back wall of the barn, on the ground, on the other side of his concrete pillar. They had a machine gun! Hugo risked peeking out and was greeted by the whizzing sound of a bullet grazing his ear. Two _police politique_ officers were lying prone at the entrance to the barn. One of them was firing an MG3, and the other was feeding him rounds off a belt. They were pinned down. Hugo could barely move to aim at the men who were no doubt now coming through the side of the barn without risking being hit.

Across from him, Hugo saw Madeleine draw her wand. 'Avert your eyes!' she called. Hugo looked away. ' _Lumos solem! Expulso!_ '

There was a blinding light and a loud bang. ' _Confringo!_ ' Madeleine shouted. There was an explosion. Several screams. The machine gun fire stopped.

Hugo risked a peek out from his cover. The two _police politique_ gunmen at the entrance were gone. All that was left of them were several shredded limbs and splatters of blood. Their machine gun had been twisted to pieces, its cartridges on fire and cooking off.

By the side entrance to the barn, the three men who had managed to enter on that side were covering their eyes, temporarily blinded. Hugo showed them no mercy. He raised his FAMAS and fired in full auto, mowing down all three of them.

Madeleine raised her wand at the opposite wall. ' _Confringo!_ ' she shouted again. There was another explosion. Hugo peeked out to examine the results of her work. Two officers were lying dead on the ground, decapitated and missing limbs.

Hugo waited, his rifle still trained on the hole in the opposite wall, waiting for any more reinforcements to come through. But after nearly a minute, there was nothing. There were no whispers, no sounds of boots coming from outside the barn. In fact, Hugo heard no sound at all.

'Is it clear?' Madeleine asked, gasping a little and clutching at her arm.

'I don't know,' Hugo replied. 'Do you want me to fix that?'

Madeleine shook her head. 'No. I can fix it myself.' She drew her wand and muttered a few spells. The piece of shrapnel flew out of her forearm and the bleeding stopped. She repaired and cleaned up her clothes with a few more spells.

'Do we investigate?' she asked when she finished. 'We need to leave, do we not?'

Hugo nodded. 'Stay here. I'm going to scout.'

'I can help,' Madeleine said.

'Stay,' Hugo ordered. 'You don't need to, and it'd only present another target for them to shoot at.'

Madeleine opened her mouth to protest, but Hugo gave her a stern look, and she nodded. He Disillusioned himself and ducked out of the hole made on his side of the wall. About a hundred metres away were parked two black armoured cars, their doors wide open. Lying on the grass were four bodies. He had counted killing eight. Inside the barn, Madeleine had blown up four with her two Blasting Curses. Adding it all up made for a total of sixteen – two armoured cars' worth.

He re-entered the barn and removed his Disillusionment Charm. 'We're clear.'

Madeleine emerged from behind her cover. Her face was pale and her long, brown hair was a tangled mess. 'What do we do? Where do we go?'

'Away from here,' Hugo said simply, not knowing what else to tell her. 'You're still wanted in this country. You need to leave. If _Leclerc_ has really been killed or has been compromised…then I'll have to escort you the rest of the way.'

Madeleine nodded. 'They were sending me to Belgium…I think…'

Hugo shook his head. 'That's an intermediate stop. I do not know much about the route, but I know that it does not end in Belgium. You will have to go east. To Germany. You will be far safer there.'

Madeleine's eyes narrowed. 'And you will escort me the rest of the way? What about your other charges?'

'Without me directly confirming my escort, they will be sent on different routes,' Hugo replied. 'Understand that the agent for one segment of the journey knows nothing about the next segment, and does not even have contact with the next segment's agent. I cannot bridge the gap for _Leclerc_. I will have to bring you the rest of the way.'

'And you believe I should go to Germany?'

Hugo nodded. 'The resistance is far stronger in Germany, from the last news I heard, at least. They control most of the countryside and even some of the smaller cities from what I understand. You will be far safer there.'

'Where do we go? And how do we get there?'

'We will have to figure it out,' Hugo answered, not exactly reassuringly. 'I have maps. I know in general what to avoid. As for how…we will have to walk.'

Madeleine nodded, steeling herself. 'Then we go now?'

Hugo looked around nervously outside the barn. The fields around were still clear. He turned back to Madeleine. 'Now. Take one of their rifles with you.'

* * *

Harry followed Hermione down the side of a narrow forest road. It had been a full week since the day they had departed from the safehouse at Moyenneville, and according to Hermione, they must have already made it to Belgium. The four of them had settled into a sort of rhythm – camp during the day and proceed by night. They were averaging about fifty kilometres per night, which, for Harry, was the limit of what he and his feet could handle. Even Hermione's healing spells were not completely alleviating his soreness now.

They had managed to cross the Belgian border seemingly undetected, magically disabling a low electric fence and slipping through an unguarded, forested section of the border. Their journey had been unexpectedly peaceful, and despite several sightings of their vehicles and operatives, the foursome had not even a single violent brush with the secret police or the GBS.

It all reminded Harry too much of the day that he, Hermione, Neville, Daphne, and Luna had left their hideout in an abandoned tunnel of the London Underground. They had known that their hideout was going to be breached eventually, but the change in the muggle government had been the factor that had forced their hand.

_Harry ascended the stairs leading to the surface, Hermione besides him and the other trio following closely behind. Their wands were all firmly grasped in their hands – not that that was any use. To use magic was akin to suicide, with the wards that Voldemort had placed over the city in secret over the last month and activated without warning the previous day. They would have to proceed on without magic's aid._

_Thankfully, they would be going through mostly muggle neighbourhoods on their way out of London. The fascist coup had happened only three days ago – though they had been in de-facto control for more than a year now – and the country was still in turmoil. This was their only advantage, Harry thought. The muggle police would still be so disoriented that they might not be able to carry out their duties to the Eternal Emperor and His Exalted Regent._

_Thankfully, the muggles had no equivalent of the SES yet. But that was only a matter of time, they all agreed._

' _This way,' Hermione whispered, pointing down a small street. 'This'll take us in the direction we need to go. Come on. Before anyone sees us.'_

_The five of them sprinted across the boulevard and ducked into the small alley-like street. On both sides were small shops, shuttered now in the middle of the night. There would be no police here, except perhaps the occasional night patrol. They were safe…well, as safe as they could get._

_They continued down the street in silence, sticking to the shadows and ducking into alcoves whenever any of them saw movement. They were wearing all black, and it helped them blend in somewhat. Following Hermione's direction, the five of them turned left, then right, then left again. Harry soon lost track of how far he had gone and where._

_After some minutes of creeping, they emerged out onto a wider road. The streetlamps were on, burning a nauseating yellow and casting on them their incriminating light._

' _Hermione?' Harry hissed. 'Don't you think this is a little dangerous?'_

' _We can't stick to side roads forever,' Hermione replied. 'It'd take forever…and we might get lost…which would be even worse.'_

_But Harry could see that she was not sure herself. In the yellow light of the streetlamps, she could see that her face was white and twitched every so often. She put on a brave face, however, and led on._

_They saw nothing for what might have been an hour – Harry did not know. The mid-rise buildings of the centre city soon gave way to lower houses of the outskirts and suburbs. Several times, they had to avoid the Met Police – soon to be renamed the Imperial Police – but they seemed to be more distracted dealing with boisterous drunkards coming out of clubs than looking out for them. Harry thought he could sympathise with the drunks. He wanted a few shots of something strong himself._

_They ducked back into smaller side streets a while later. Well-practised at stealth, they managed to slip past two police officers to gain entry to the smaller street. They had to detour, Hermione had said, as their original road was going to widen. There would likely be more police there, and some were bound to be looking out for them._

_They walked for another hour, avoiding – sometimes narrowly – police patrols. As they left the bustling city of London behind, run-ins with the police were fewer and farther between. There were almost no pedestrians on the street now, no drunks, and no one else that could cause them any trouble._

' _We're in Croydon,' Hermione said. The sky was beginning to lighten. Harry's watch read five. 'This is the last borough we'll have to pass before we're out of London. Come on.'_

_Five became six. The row houses that they had passed by earlier became individual homes of the type that reminded Harry frighteningly of Privet Drive. He wondered where the Dursleys were now. Were they emphatically joining in the new muggle government's persecution of him? Or were they fleeing the country, fearing that the 'freak' was going to be the end of them?_

_Another hour, and dawn was beginning to approach. Harry could see fields beyond the houses now. They must be near. Somehow, they had managed to successfully escape._

' _Did you feel that?' Hermione suddenly said._

 _Harry stepped forward a half-step, and he felt it. A wave of magic washed over him, and he felt_ different. _Behind the line of magic, he had felt oppressed, tracked. Now, he almost felt free._

' _We've made it?' he concluded._

_Hermione beamed and threw her arms around him, kissing him soundly. 'We've made it!' she chirped in celebration._

_The others stepped forward. Hugs of jubilation were exchanged at their – temporary – escape from danger. But the jubilation quickly turned sombre. This was the last time in a long time, perhaps, that Harry would see the trio. They were going to go off into hiding together, while he and Hermione were going to pair off – it was decided that it would be safer for all of them this way._

_And he realised how much he was going to miss them. He had already lost Ron to disappearance, Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys to death. And now the only other friends he had in the world were parting ways with him. He would have Hermione, of course, always have Hermione. But however much he loved her and she him, she could not make up for three people alone._

_Neville had become his and Hermione's right-hand man, leading the Order – if it could even be called that at this point – with them. Luna had always been a loyal, dear friend, whose bravery and courage were sometimes hidden under her somewhat aloof nature. As for Daphne…the path to trusting her had been rocky, but he did not regret it. He was going to miss his Chief Strategist no matter what, but she had also proven herself to be a kind and attentive friend. And Harry was going to miss that more._

_Another round of hugs was exchanged, but the parting had to come._

' _We will see each other again, Harry,' Neville promised, sounding empty. 'And in better times.'_

_Harry nodded hollowly. 'Until we meet again.'_

_In better times_ , Harry now thought derisively. It had all been a fantasy, of course. Something to keep up their morale at what seemed like a hopeless time. As if the situation was ever going to get better on its own. In the months following their retreat into hermitage, it had all only gotten worse. Voldemort had expanded his territory, oppressing all of Western Europe. The secret police had been created. The camps were greatly expanded…the list of atrocities went on and on.

Hermione stopped suddenly. 'Did you hear that?' she breathed.

Harry shook his head. 'Hear what?'

Hermione held a finger to his lips. Behind Harry, Neville and Daphne stopped in their tracks and stood still, listening carefully.

There was a series of distant cracks coming from somewhere off to their front and right. Harry thought that he could hear screams, though the rustling of the forest leaves obscured the sound.

'That sounded like gunfire,' Harry whispered. 'Should we investigate?'

Hermione chewed her lower lip in though. 'I think we have to,' she murmured finally. 'What if it's the secret police…doing…I don't even want to think about what?'

'What if it's a trap? Or there's a bigger force than we expected?'

'We'll proceed carefully,' Neville cut in. 'If they're killing innocents, we have to stop it. We can't leave them to their own machinations after…after what happened in Abbeville.'

That sent a cold shiver down Harry's spine, and his choice was decided. 'We'll go, then.'

The four of them checked their Disillusionments once again and tore through the woods as fast as they could in the direction of the source of the noise. Through the dark forest they ran, not minding the noise that they were no doubt making. Harry heard more cracks. They were closer now. Perhaps several hundred metres away.

Hermione stopped short, and Harry nearly barrelled into her.

'What is it?' he hissed.

Hermione said nothing, but pointed in front of her. Harry could see light filtering through the bushes and undergrowth. He inched a little further up. He could see a dirt track now, leading to a clearing. The was an armoured car parked in front, its headlights glowing and illuminating the glade.

And then Harry saw something that made him, even with his years of acclimatisation to war, gasp. Standing on one side of the clearing, guarded by two secret police officers, were a group of four men and women, all wearing dirty orange rags. Prisoners. Standing in a line to the right of the armoured car were six more secret police, their rifles raised.

What was happening became instantly clear as one of the secret police officers on 'guard duty' dragged one of the prisoners roughly in front of a tree on the opposite side of the clearing. The six lined-up secret police raised their rifles. Before Harry could do anything, they fired. Six rounds hit the prisoner in the back, and he crumpled against the tree trunk.

' _Je ne comprends toujours pas nous les exécutons,'_ the secret police officer who had led the man to his execution said. ' _Je pensais que Notre Regent a dit que nous devions les garder en vie._ '

The secret police standing at the left end of the firing line spoke up. ' _Nos commandes n'ont jamais dit pourquoi. C'est plus facile. Quelle est la différence ? Ils mourront de toute façon. Tais-tu et dispose du corps, bordel._ '

The first officer nodded to his superior and picked up the corpse of the executed prisoner. He dragged it roughly towards an already-prepared mass grave and unceremoniously dumped it in before returning towards the gathered prisoners.

Without conscious thought, Harry went into battle mode. 'Hermione, stay here with me,' he commanded. 'We'll take care of the gunmen. Daph, Neville, go right. Place yourselves behind the prisoners and their guards. The moment you see us start shooting, you kill the guards. Understood?'

Daphne and Neville nodded and took off without a second word. He and Hermione advanced a little, taking better firing positions behind a boulder. The guard was dragging another prisoner up to the tree now, but there was nothing he and Hermione could do to help her. Daphne and Neville had only just split off. They were not in position yet.

Another series of rifle cracks. Hermione drew breath sharply as the woman was executed. Harry checked his watch. Two minutes had passed since Neville and Daphne had left. They must be close now…

The guard dumped the woman's body into the trench and went back towards the prisoners. Harry knew that he had to act now, even if he was not sure if the others were in position yet. He had to prevent the secret police from executing another innocent.

'Fire,' he whispered to Hermione and squeezed the trigger, aiming for the secret police officers' backs and letting rounds fly in full auto. The leftmost and rightmost fell with a scream to him and Hermione, respectively. He shifted his aim and killed the second-to-leftmost officer before they could react.

Harry could see the two officers guarding the prisoners fall to the ground. Neville and Daphne had indeed been in position. As their comrades died, the last two secret police began to react, but by virtue of their opponents' magically silenced and flash-suppressed weapons, they did not know where to turn or what to shoot at.

Instead, they turned their weapons on the prisoners. Harry's jaw dropped in horror as they opened fire, their assault rifles aimed at the two helpless men. He jammed the trigger back as hard as he could, hatred filling him. He and Hermione emptied the rest of their magazines on them, and even as they fell, the secret police officers' rifles continued firing into the air, only falling silent when their bodies hit the ground with a thud of finality.

Harry and Hermione rushed forward into the clearing. Daphne and Neville did the same. The two prisoners who had been shot at were both on the ground. One was already dead and lying in a puddle of his own blood, but the other was sitting up with great effort, clutching at his chest. He was shot no less than six times, but somehow, miraculously, he was still alive.

Hermione drew her wand, probably intending to heal him. Yet unexpectedly, the man looked at her with a frightened expression instead. Hermione was taken aback for a second and sheathed her wand.

'I'm trying to heal you,' she said softly to the man.

' _Nein_ ,' the man replied hoarsely. ' _Lassen Sie das…nicht mit Hexerei…_ '

Hermione looked lost. 'Sorry, I don't understand,' she said, more slowly. 'I am trying to heal you.'

The man shook his head. ' _Nein. Aber…Hören Sie. Im Norden ist ein Lager. Konzentrationslager der Geheimpolizei und Speziellen Aktionsgruppen…Zwanzig Kilometer_. _Im Norden_.'

Harry exchanged a look with Hermione. He turned back to the man, intending to ask him to translate what he had wanted to say, but in the second that he had looked away, the man had collapsed to the forest floor. His breathing had stopped.

The four of them looked silently at each other. 'Did anyone understand what he said?' Hermione asked, breaking the silence.

'I heard him say "kilometre",' Harry replied. 'He was trying to point us towards something…or someone.'

'But what?'

They looked at each other in unknowing silence once again.

'We'll have to bury them,' Harry said authoritatively, seeing that they had no way of following up on the man's lead – if it had been a lead at all. 'The prisoners. The secret police we can leave for the animals. Strip the officers' bodies and take anything we could possibly need.'

Harry and Hermione carried the bodies over to the trench and laid them down carefully. The secret police had simply dumped them in, and they took the time to levitate the bodies off one another and give them a more respectful burial. Finally, with a wave of the Elder Wand, Harry covered the mass grave. He conjured a small wooden stake and carved a '9' onto it, marking the number of bodies that lay there.

'Harry, Hermione. We've found something,' Daphne called. He and Hermione rushed over to her and Neville. In her hands, Daphne was holding a small, blood-stained notebook.

'Answers to the security questions,' she said. 'In both French and German. This is what they'll ask at checkpoints…or at the border.' She held up another slip of paper. 'And I have their pass, too. Apparently, these guards were granted free movement through France, Belgium, and Germany.'

Harry's eyes widened. He shared a glance with Hermione. Both understood the significance of what Daphne had just found. They had a pass…the security question booklet…and they could strip the bodies for uniforms…

'We have a way to get to Germany,' he concluded. 'We'll liberate them of their armoured car. We can steal their uniforms. We have the security questions and the checkpoint passes…'

'We can impersonate the secret police and slip across the country and the border hopefully undetected,' Hermione finished. 'For a while, at least. I like it.'

'I like it, too,' Daphne said, grinning savagely. 'We'll strip them. We can repair their uniforms magically. Let's go, then.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I'm learning German grammar as a side effect of trying to write this story.
> 
> Thank you to maschl for all his help with almost every aspect of this story. Thank you to W H Rutledge for his beta work. If you have not already, go check out maschl's I See No Difference as well as W H Rutledge's various excellent stories!
> 
> Translations:
> 
> French:
> 
> Je ne comprends toujours pas nous les exécutons. Je pensais que Notre Regent a dit que nous devions les garder en vie. = I don't understand why we're executing them. I thought our Regent said that we had to keep them alive.
> 
> Nos commandes n'ont jamais dit pourquoi. C'est plus facile. Quelle est la différence ? Ils mourront de toute façon. Tais-tu et dispose du corps, bordel. = Our orders never said why. This is easier. What's the difference? They will die either way. Shut up and dispose of the body, [swear].
> 
> German:
> 
> Nein. Lassen Sie das…nicht mit Hexerei… = No. Leave it…not with magic…
> 
> Nein. Aber…Hören Sie. Im Norden ist ein Lager. Konzentrationslager der Geheimpolizei und Speziellen Aktionsgruppen…Zwanzig Kilometer. Im Norden. = No. But…listen. In the north there is a camp. A concentration camp run by the secret police and the SA…twenty kilometres. In the north.


	11. X: ...Red in our enemies' blood!

Anna von Hartmann walked through the incinerated streets of Saarlouis. The firestorm that had obviously rampaged through the old town left nothing resembling human civilisation in its wake. Buildings mostly built of wood were completely razed to the ground, and those that were not were but an empty shell. Beneath her feet was a thick layer of ash, obscuring the pavement below and crunching slightly as she walked. Charred, blackened, shrivelled bodies littered either side of the street, their features and clothing completely burned away.

She heard Erich Holzer, her lieutenant, dry heave at the sight. If Anna were to be honest with herself, if she did not have to maintain composure for the sake of her comrades, she would very much like to retreat into a corner and retch, or cry, or both.

So that was how they had died. Two days ago, western headquarters in Trier had suddenly lost all communication with the resistance at Saarlouis. At first, the _Widerstandskommando West_ had assumed that the command lines had been cut and spent a full day-and-a-half covertly inspecting the lines between the sixty-or-so kilometres between the two cities. But when that inspection yielded no results, Anna and her squad had been sent to investigate in person.

A small part of her regretted being an _Brigadegeneral_ in the resistance. As one of the highest-ranking magical officers of _Widerstandskommando West_ , she had been sent on this mission precisely because of the suspected magical nature of what had happened. She had a duty to her comrades, but to be completely honest, she would rather be sitting back at base, sipping a cup of contraband coffee.

'They didn't even bother trying to occupy the city,' Erich muttered. 'They just completely destroyed it and left.'

'I don't know if they were ever even here,' Anna replied. 'It looks like they had levelled this entire city from the air.'

'Then explain this,' Erich said sharply as he turned the corner onto a wide boulevard.

Up ahead, Anna could see a veritable mountain of charred bodies. But they did not resemble the hapless, panicked victims of a firestorm. Instead, the bodies were laid out in an almost organised pattern – resembling a military formation. She broke from the rest of her squad and proceeded gingerly forward, shouldering her G36 and drawing her wand instead, anticipating some sort of trap. But no attack came.

As she got closer, she began to see that some of the bodies were holding tarnished knives and what resembled clubs. What was more, they were all wearing helmets – helmets of an almost ancient design, but helmets nonetheless. There was no doubt in Anna's mind that this had been some kind of military force.

'They did send in the army, then,' she breathed. 'And then they burned their own to death.'

'We know Voldemort cares nothing for the _Nichtmagier_ ,' Erich spat. 'He would not think there was anything wrong with simply "expending" his non-magical forces rather than bothering to bring them back to base.'

Anna shook his head. 'Even Voldemort is not this stupid,' she said. 'He would not throw away soldiers for no reason, even if they were not his magical troops. There must have been a reason they were killed.'

'What do you think?'

Anna had no answer. 'I don't know the reason, but I'm certain that there _was_ a reason.'

'But why did they just stay and die, instead of trying to flee?' Erich pointed out. 'The Imperial Army is not that disciplined. Why did they not simply kill their political officers and make a run for it?'

Anna cocked an eyebrow at him. 'And run where? There would've likely been barrier units from the SA to prevent them from fleeing. They couldn't very well drive up the _Autobahn_ to Trier.'

'Doesn't mean they wouldn't have panicked,' Erich muttered. 'But they all died in near perfect formation.'

'There's a lot of things that don't add up,' Anna agreed with a sigh.

'Nothing adds up,' Erich corrected. 'Voldemort destroys the city, but doesn't bother occupying the region. He sent in the army, but then kills all of his own troops. And then his own troops somehow don't even panic when they're being incinerated alive? What the hell is this?'

'It's almost like we're living in some dystopia where nothing makes sense,' Anna joked darkly.

Erich snorted. 'Right. Should we take pictures?'

Anna nodded. 'Yes. I think we need to pass this information back to headquarters immediately. Voldemort's obviously adopting a new strategy. If Saarlouis was destroyed like this, then…'

'Trier could be next.'

'Will be next.'

Erich produced an instant camera and took several pictures of the dead enemy soldiers, of the destroyed city, before the squad turned from the ghastly sight and disapparated back to Trier. Anna was infinitely thankful that they _could_ still apparate. From what she had heard from France, from Belgium, and from the occasional newsflash from Britain, apparition was all but impossible there for anyone but Voldemort's loyalists. But the German resistance had kept the channels of magical transportation open. It was well-organised – if bureaucratic – strong – relatively speaking, at least – and motivated.

Anna was a half-blood, educated at Durmstrang, but her mother and father had both been raised among the _Nichtmagier_. Her father was a muggle-born. His father – her grandfather – had been sent to Mauthausen by the Nazi regime for being a socialist, where he had nearly succumbed to the forced labour and starvation. Then, under the DDR, he had been harassed, arrested and sent to prison repeatedly, for, ironically, not being communist enough. Her father had made sure that she knew of her family's history. And even if they were all now gone, she felt proud to follow in their wake, standing up against a new oppressor.

'You're released,' Anna told the other members of her squad when they arrived back at headquarters in Trier. 'Erich, come with me.'

The two of them made their way up to the top floor of the general staff building. ' _Generalleutnant_ Schumacher,' she told the secretary sitting there in a rather curt tone.

'Do you have an appointment with the _Generalleutnant_ , _Brigadegeneral_ von Hartmann?' she asked, sounding deliberately unhelpful.

'This is urgent, _Fräulein_ ,' Anna said, taking a deep breath and trying to present herself more respectfully, annoyed as she was. 'I need to see him immediately. Please.'

The secretary frowned at her, but rose and knocked on Schumacher's door. She stuck her head in and exchanged a few words, before turning back to Anna.

'He said to come in.'

Anna passed the glaring secretary without another glance and stepped into the _Generalleutnant_ 's well-furnished, if stern-looking and rigid office. He was, as usual, dressed in the full officer uniform of the former _Bundeswehr_.

' _Guten Tag_ , _Brigadegeneral von Hartmann, Oberstleutnant Holzer_ ,' the lieutenant general greeted with a forced smile on his face. Anna knew that he did not like her – or any of the other magical officers, for that matter – very much. The man had a rather rigid idea of what an officer should be from his days in the _Heer_ and disapproved of the magicals' fast promotion through the ranks. But he was never openly hostile, for he, like the other _Nichtmagier_ of the resistance, understood that cooperation was the best – and only – course of action.

Anna knew, though, that he reserved a special disapproval of her, and on days like today, she could sympathise. She was barely seven years out of Durmstrang, yet had somehow achieved the third-highest rank in the resistance. It would make any career officer at least a little bit jealous.

' _Generalleutnant_ ,' she replied with a small nod.

'Take a seat, then, please,' Schumacher instructed after a short pause. Anna and Erich sat down opposite the man's oak desk in a pair of rather hard and uncomfortable chairs. She had a feeling that the lieutenant general had picked them out on purpose for that characteristic.

'Is this about Saarlouis?' Schumacher deduced shrewdly.

Anna nodded. 'It has been burned to the ground, _Generalleutnant_. No survivors.'

Schumacher suddenly looked alarmed. 'Burned to the ground? You mean…'

'Destroyed. Firebombed. Razed to the ground. Nothing remains.'

'No survivors? No refugees?'

'None that we saw.'

Schumacher swallowed. Anna could see that he had almost lost his composure, but he fought to keep control. 'Voldemort's work?'

'Yes,' Erich spoke up. He reached into his coat and pulled out the pictures that he had taken, handing them over to the general. The stern man looked down, and as much as he tried to hide it, his expression paled and twisted into one of horror.

'Levelled,' he breathed. He looked through the rest of the images, before arriving at the one of the incinerated soldiers. 'Are these…civilians?'

Anna shook her head. 'Imperial Army soldiers. You can see their helmets in the picture.'

Schumacher's expression shifted to one of confusion. 'French Modèle 1951's… Why would he issue his soldiers fifty-three-year-old helmets?'

'Why would he burn his own soldiers alive?' Anna countered with what she thought was the more important question.

Schumacher did not answer. He looked up and stared Anna directly in the eyes. 'Was the city not occupied?'

Anna shook her head. 'I do not think I would be sitting here in front of you if it were, _Generalleutnant_.'

'That is odd,' Schumacher mused to himself. 'That is unlike the enemy…why would he expend resources on a sector that he does not intend to occupy? Unless…it was a test…'

'I beg your pardon, _Generalleutnant_?'

'These soldiers were wearing old French surplus equipment, _Brigadegeneral_ ,' Schumacher explained, sounding a little impatient at Anna's lack of immediate understanding. 'We do not see magical or modern non-magical weapons on them, either. They are clearly not front-line troops, if they are part of the Imperial Army at all. Voldemort intended to sacrifice them for something. It must have been a test…for some new tactic…or for some new weapon.'

Anna felt a cold sweat on her back. 'A new weapon? What could it be?'

Schumacher sighed. 'Your guess is as good as mine, _Brigadegeneral_. Voldemort may have intended their destruction to preserve the secret.'

'We need to protect this city, _Generalleutnant_ ,' Anna said, knowing that she was being rather disrespectful towards the higher-ranking officer but not caring. 'If Saarlouis was attacked, what is to say that Voldemort will not target Trier next? We are a much more valuable target.'

'And what do you suggest, _Brigadegeneral_?' Schumacher asked in a somewhat patronising tone.

Anna ignored the belittling attitude. 'We should increase our anti-aircraft defences. They bombed Saarlouis using aircraft, I think,' she said. 'And strengthen the magical defences around the city so we will have more warning and protection from a ground attack. Those around Saarlouis were completely broken when we arrived.'

'We have one of the strongest sets of magical defences in the country, _Brigadegeneral_. If I recall correctly, you said this yourself,' Schumacher replied. 'And we have over twenty-five Roland and S-125 anti-aircraft missile units. You do not think that we are incapable of defending ourselves, do you?'

Anna swallowed. 'I did not mean that. I only suggested that…seeing that Voldemort is targeting us more directly now…we should increase our defences…'

There was a long, pregnant pause. 'I will consider it, _Brigadegeneral_ ,' Schumacher said finally, in a voice that seemed to suggest the opposite. 'Thank you for bringing this to your attention. You are dismissed.'

* * *

'How far are we?' Hermione asked.

Harry looked down at his map. 'We just passed Malmedy,' he said as he traced over the map. 'We're maybe…twenty-something kilometres from the border crossing at Steinebrück?'

Hermione nodded, waving her wand once at the steering wheel and keeping the armoured car in its lane. It was approaching dinner time. They had all agreed that crossing the border around this time might invite the least scrutiny to their identity and intentions, for even secret police and GBS thugs had to eat.

They wound through a stretch of forest on the twisting country road. As they rounded a final curve, they saw the flashing lights of the border checkpoint up ahead. In front of them were parked another two or three armoured cars, some with the morbidly familiar markings of the French _police politique_ , and some with unfamiliar markings that Harry surmised were those of the German muggle secret police.

'Wands at the ready, everyone,' Harry hissed. 'But do not draw them in the open. Daph, Neville, make visible your assault rifles. It'll make our disguise more convincing.'

One armoured car passed through the checkpoint. Then, five minutes later, the next car was let through. The secret police border guards spent almost ten minutes examining the next car before it, too, was let through across the border. Finally, it was their turn.

Hermione's face was sheet white as the secret police waved them up, but she took several deep breaths to school her features before pulling up the rest of the way. She stopped just in front of the secret police officer and rolled down the window.

' _Votre permis_ ,' the officer demanded. Hermione reached onto the dashboard and handed over the pass that they had looted from the executioners the previous day. Harry held his breath as the officer inspected it, only releasing it when he looked back up at them, satisfied.

' _Nombre?_ '

Hermione held up four fingers. ' _Quatre_.'

' _Je n'ai reçu pas votre numéro d'identification sur la liste de ceux, qui passeront la frontière aujourd'hui_ ,' the officer said, frowning a little.

' _Nous avons été soudainement appelés pour une mission_ ,' Hermione replied.

The officer nodded. ' _Charles !_ '

Another secret police officer came up next to the armoured car. ' _L'Allemagne ?_ '

Hermione nodded.

' _Pourquoi ?_ '

' _Pardon ?_ '

' _Pourquoi vous allez à l'Allemagne ?_ '

Hermione hesitated for a second. ' _Parce que nous devons…pacifier…les combattants de la résistance._ '

' _Dans quelle ville ? Ou région ?'_

Hermione sneaked a glance at Harry's map. ' _Bitburg_ ,' she replied.

The two secret police officers' eyebrows shot up. ' _Bitburg ? C'est bordel loin en territoire ennemi ! Nous n'avons pas contrôle au sud de la ville de Prüm !_ '

Hermione tried and failed to suppress a small gasp as the first officer turned to the second one. ' _Posse les questions de sécurité et ne perds pas plus de temps, bordel._ '

The second officer nodded. ' _La devise des GBS_.'

'A _u service du grand Empereur Eternel,_ ' Hermione recited the memorised phrase monotonously.

' _Le lieu de naissance de notre Régent.'_

' _Sur les pentes de Ben Nevis_ ,' Hermione replied with Voldemort's supposed birthplace, as extolled by his regime's propaganda.

' _Et ton nom, mademoiselle ?_ '

Harry could tell that something had gone horribly wrong by Hermione's expression. She tried to school her features, but it was impossible to hide the look of shock at what must have been an unexpected question. ' _Ce n'était pas une des questions de sécurité_ ,' she protested feebly.

' _C'est_ ma _question de sécurité_ ,' the officer said. ' _Ton nom ?_ '

'Uh… _Shosanna Dreyfus_ ,' Hermione lied shakily.

For a moment, the officers appeared as if they had bought Hermione's lie. That illusion, however, was quickly shattered when the two of them reached for their pistols.

' _Vous ne sont pas les 'policiers politique' !_ ' the second officer spat. ' _Vous êtes anglais ! Tu as un accent indubitable, bordel ! Et vos réponses, ils sont fabriqués, bordel !_ _Sortez de la voiture. Maintenant !_ '

Harry exchanged a look with Hermione, attempting to silently ask her what to do. The guards' pistols clicked. He could not draw his wand and fight back. Not without getting both himself and Hermione killed.

' _Imperio_ ,' Neville whispered behind him. ' _Imperio_.'

The two guards' faces went slack, and a second later, both holstered their pistols.

'I am sorry,' the second officer said in heavily accented English. 'I did not realise you were sent from Britain. You may go.'

Without a second's hesitation, Hermione floored the accelerator. The armoured car shot forward. They crossed the narrow bridge separating the Belgian and German sides of the border. The guard posts on the German side were only a hundred metres away…fifty…twenty…

' _Arrêtez-les !_ ' suddenly came an amplified voice. ' _Ils sont sorciers ! Arrêtez-les !_ '

Two armoured cars bearing German markings shot out from the side of the road, blocking their path. Hermione slammed down the brakes. A split second later, Harry heard cracks of machine-gun fire, then the sounds of bullets slamming into the sides of their armoured car.

Hermione shrieked in terror and ducked her head down as the reinforced windows began cracking under the onslaught of fire. 'We need to get out!' she yelled. 'Out of the car! They might use rockets on us! Or Blasting Curses!'

'Ready Shield Charms!' Harry ordered. The four of them raised their wands and shielded in front of them. 'Open the doors on three! One! Two! Three!'

All four doors swung open. Bullets slammed into Harry's Shield and were absorbed in small flashes of light. He jerked his head around, looking for the direction of the enemy's attack. On top of the two watchtowers, Harry could the characteristic muzzle flashes of machine guns. From across the bridge that they had come, he could see at least a squad of the secret police, aided by several GBS clad in their dark green muggle uniforms. And right in front of them, coming out of their armoured cars, were the German secret police, their rifles held aloft and ready.

'The armoured cars!' Harry shouted. 'Blow them up!'

'How?' Neville yelled from next to him. 'We can't just cancel the shields!'

'Conjure walls, damn it!' Harry snapped. He ducked behind the open door of their armoured car and raised his wand, conjuring a tall brick wall that blocked the fire coming from the watchtowers. Harry knew it would not last long – machine-gun rounds were already slamming into it and pulverizing it – but he did not need long.

He cancelled his Shield Charm and peeked out from behind the armoured car's door. ' _Reducto! Reducto! Confringo!_ '

Harry's Blasting Curse flew through the destroyed doors of the enemy armoured car and detonated inside. The force of the explosion propelled the vehicle through the air, carrying the secret police officers hiding behind with it. Car and men slammed onto the pavement a distance away in a sickening crunch. The whole ghastly agglomeration burst into flame.

'Hermione!'

'On it!'

Hermione, taking advantage of the machine gunners' concentrated fire on Harry's conjured wall, cancelled her own Shield Charm and sent several Reductor and Blasting Curses towards the armoured car on her side. The car immediately detonated in an explosion that knocked Hermione off her feet.

Harry conjured a Shield Charm for her as she got back onto her feet. His own brick wall was nearly destroyed now. He Vanished it and replaced it with another Shield.

'Behind!' Daphne shouted. Harry spun around just in time to see the bright trail of a missile. Harry shot a Reductor Curse at it, but it went wide. The missile impacted the back of their armoured car and exploded. Dust and shrapnel flew through the air, and Harry was forced to duck and shield his face from the debris.

'Everyone all right?' Harry asked. Thankfully, three shouts of affirmation.

A flash of green light came out of nowhere. Harry ducked, narrowly avoiding it, and it sparked off the interior of the armoured car's door. The GBS and secret police forces were closing in now. They were already on the German side of the bridge. They would be on top of them in seconds.

'Destroy the watchtowers! We can't deal with both sides at once!'

'How? They look nearly impossible to take down with curses!' Hermione yelled. 'And the firing slits are too narrow to aim a Blasting or even Killing Curse through!'

'We'll have to try!' Harry replied. He quickly tried to form a plan in his head. 'Daph! Neville! Come up in front of the front doors and Shield ahead of us! Hermione, you and I fire as many curses as we can at it! We'll need to wear it down!'

Slowly, Daphne and Neville retreated towards Harry and Hermione. They turned their Shields around towards the watchtowers as they reached them. Harry cancelled his own shield, relying on the steel armour of the door to protect him from oncoming bullets.

Harry reached over Neville's shoulder and began firing off Blasting Curses. The Elder Wand-amplified spells began gouging a hole in the base of the tower, which Harry expanded using a Gouging Charm. He looked over the hood of the vehicle and saw Hermione doing much the same thing.

There was a loud crack, and the watchtower on Harry's side fell forward. Faintly, over the din of the battle, he could hear a long, drawn-out scream coming from the machine-gunner as he plunged to his death. The steel-and-brickwork structure slammed into the ground with a huge bang. Dust and debris shot into the air, obscuring Harry's vision.

Several seconds later, another crack, followed by the sound of the other watchtower slamming into the ground.

A small explosion. Harry heard something heavy slam onto the ground. Two feminine shrieks. A shout of ' _Protego!_ '. Another, louder, female scream of pain.

'What's going on?' Harry yelled.

'It's Daph! She's been hit!' came Hermione's panicked voice. 'In the thigh! They blew off the car door and I wasn't fast enough…there's blood everywhere…'

'I can take care of myself, Hermione,' Harry heard Daphne say. 'Kill the ones behind us. I can heal myself!'

Harry heard Hermione say something in protest as he turned to look behind him. The forces from the Belgo-French side were in position now. The muggle secret police were taking cover behind concrete roadblocks and trees, occasionally peeking out to fire. The GBS, however, were standing right out in the open, utilising absolutely no cover, and firing off Killing Curses left and right.

He instinctively grabbed his assault rifle from inside the armoured car, narrowly avoiding a Killing Curse as he did so. Neville worked in tandem with him, conjuring a Shield Charm. Harry leaned over him, using his shoulder as a support, and opened fire.

The GBS, somehow not anticipating a non-magical attack, were caught completely off guard. Bullets ripped through their torsos. Blood splattered behind them at the exit wounds. Harry emptied one full magazine, killing four or five of them before running out of rounds. The GBS who were still standing, seeing their fellows' deaths, attempted to react by conjuring Shield Charms, but it was too late. Harry dropped his assault rifle and raised his wand. He and Neville killed the remaining three with Killing Curses that punched right through their pathetic Shield Charms.

'Tank!' Hermione suddenly shrieked. Harry, fixated on the GBS, had not noticed nor heard the enormous vehicle drive onto the bridge. It bore down on them with surprising speed, turret turning in their direction.

'Get out of here!' Harry ordered. 'Smokescreen and Disillusionments! There aren't any more GBS here and our way forward is cleared. We'll risk it! Hermione, grab Daph. Let's go! _Concelo!_ '

Immediately, a thick cloud of smoke appeared in front of Harry, obscuring them from the secret police's fire. He and Neville continued shielding in front of them, blocking the blind fire, as they retreated. Hermione appeared from the other side of the armoured car. Her face bore numerous cuts, and she was dragging a still-bleeding Daphne by the collar.

Harry tapped everyone over the head, casting Disillusionment Charms on them all. 'Into the woods! Quick!'

They fell back as fast as they could with one of them heavily wounded, and not a moment too soon. Harry heard the tank fire a shell, and a second later, their armoured car exploded in a bright orange fireball. A piece of resulting shrapnel hit Harry on the right cheek, cutting deeply. He winced in pain and felt blood begin pouring out of the wound, but he bit his tongue and went on.

Harry and Neville continued shielding as they retreated, and the girls blindly cast Blasting Curses through the smoke. Once in a while, Harry would hear yelps or shrieks coming from the other side, announcing that they had scored a hit.

The tank continued firing high explosive shells, occasionally landing one disturbingly close to them. After what seemed like an eternity, they passed the fallen watchtowers and ducked into the forest beyond the checkpoint.

They could not drag Daphne over the rougher ground, so Neville and Hermione lifted her onto their shoulders and carried her in a fashion that reminded Harry of a morbid three-legged race. The secret police were still firing through the now-clearing smokescreen. Soon, they would realise that they had gone… They would need to get as far as they could away.

'Hermione, can you stop the bleeding?' Harry asked. 'We can't treat her right now, but if you can stop her bleeding…'

'I already tried!' Hermione replied, her voice shaking. 'It's better than it would've been if I hadn't, but she got hit five times. I can't stop it completely, not in the middle of a battle! I tried to numb the pain and put her into a semi-conscious state…that's all I'm comfortable with doing right now. And Harry, your face!'

'I know!' Harry shouted. 'We can't worry about it right now. We need to get out of here before they realise we've escaped and start searching for us!'

'We'll apparate,' Hermione yelled back. 'It's the only way.'

' _Are you mad?_ '

Hermione shook her head. 'The guard at the border said that they don't actually control anything south of Prüm, which is twenty or so kilometres southeast of here. If the resistance here is strong enough to hold them off this much…they might be strong enough to take down any anti-apparition or alert enchantments…we have to risk it. We can't go far like this.'

'Are you sure?' Harry demanded. 'And can she apparate like this?'

'I'm not sure and I don't know!' Hermione cried. 'But what else can we do? Wait here to be slaughtered?'

'Where?' Harry asked simply, not liking Hermione's suggestion but seeing no other options.

'I saw a patch of forest on the map near Prüm that might work,' Hermione replied doubtfully. 'I'll try to apparate all four of us…I don't know if this could even work…but, oh, we'll have to try, won't we?'

Harry nodded and grabbed Hermione's hand, trusting her instinctively. She took a deep breath before turning on the spot. Instantly, the noises of battle were deafened as Harry found himself being squeezed into a tube.

* * *

Anna von Hartmann looked up at the new S-125 battery positioned on the hills south of Trier. Contrary to what she had anticipated, _Generalleutnant_ Schumacher actually _had_ gone and procured new anti-aircraft units from their underground sources in the former DDR in the four days since she had returned from Saarlouis. Provided, it was only two extra units and eight more missiles, but it was still two extra units and eight more missiles.

But Anna was still angry. Schumacher had ignored the magical defences, which, in her mind, constituted either grave negligence or dangerous oversight.

She watched as the technicians – all of them ex- _Luftwaffe_ – installed the last missile onto its fixture. Despite her continued disappointment and disapproval of Schumacher, she had to marvel at the fortress that he had built in this valley. Non-magical defences manned by former members of the _Bundeswehr_ were bolstered by magical defences from the magical elements of the resistance. And all this was somehow done without revealing the existence of magic to the general populace of the city or anyone outside of the resistance structure.

The technicians ran a series of tests on the missile battery for most of the late morning, and by lunchtime, it was declared complete. The resistance was nothing if not scarily efficient.

And somehow, they even managed to have decent food – something the refugees from France or the Low Countries gawked at with wide eyes when they had first arrived. The farms under the resistance's control had no problem not just feeding, but nourishing the population.

Anna spent most of the afternoon inspecting the defences on the hill. The BM-21 rocket artillery batteries that Schumacher had brought in from Ukraine the previous month were stationed to the east of the new anti-aircraft missile systems. One of the officers in charge of the artillery division attempted to chat her up, but she rolled her eyes and gently reminded the _Hauptmann_ to keep his eyes on his troops, who Anna noticed were perhaps having a little too much beer for men who were supposed to be on duty, and not on her chest.

Then, suddenly, at just past four, the alarms sounded. The men rushed to their positions. Anna drew her wand and rushed off towards the command tent of the anti-aircraft division. They were not her own squad, but protocol dictated that she head for the nearest divisional command when the alarms went off.

She felt tense and on-edge as she entered the tent. She had seen what had happened at Saarlouis first-hand, and knew that Voldemort would attempt something like that against Trier sooner or later. But a part of her also felt reassured. Trier had much better defences against attack than Saarlouis ever had. It was Schumacher's fortress, after all.

The officer in command – _Major_ Schwartz, Anna read from his nametag – was talking into a telephone. The radar officers were glued to their screens. Over their shoulders, Anna could see ten or so dots on their map.

'Twelve enemy aircraft, _Major_ Schwartz,' one of the officers barked. 'Heading from north-northwest. Thirty-seven kilometres to the north. Speed of one thousand one hundred kilometres per hour.'

Schwartz put down his phone. 'Do you have radar lock?'

'Yes, _Major_ ,' the officer replied.

'Continue tracking them,' Schwartz instructed. 'Weapons officer, wait for signal.'

Schwartz picked his receiver back up and said some things into it that Anna did not catch. After perhaps fifteen seconds, he slammed it down and turned to the weapons officer.

' _Feuer!_ '

The weapons officer flipped a switch and jammed his thumb down on the button. A second later, Anna heard the missile's rocket motor ignite. The ground shook a little as it shot off its launcher.

' _Feuer!_ ' Another missile flew off.

' _Feuer!_ ' And a third.

' _Halt_.'

Anna watched the radar screens with anticipation. One second passed. Two seconds. And suddenly, two dots disappeared.

'Two hits,' another radar officer reported. 'Another twelve missiles have been launched by other units.'

'Hold your fire,' Schwartz ordered. The phone rang again. Schwartz picked it up, and as he listened to the speaker on the other side, his face quickly paled.

'Ground forces sighted on Hill 19, west-northwest,' he reported before picking up the phone again. From what Anna could hear, he was giving orders to the commander of the rocket artillery division.

And suddenly, there was a horrible screeching sound. Anna looked out the tent. Off to her right, the rocket batteries had opened fire. As each rocket launched into the air, it made a shrill, ear-splitting sound that terrified Anna, despite knowing that the rockets were coming from her own side. Orange streaks of light flashed through the air at incredible speed, looking disturbingly like curses. The rockets streaked across the Moselle valley, over the city, before hitting the hills beyond and exploding.

Rockets were launching from other hills to the south of the city, too. The air was so filled with white smoke from the rockets' exhaust that Anna struggled to see the sky. The hills above the opposite bank of the river was obscured by grey and brown clouds from the rockets' impacts. She thought she could see whole trees being uprooted and thrown into the air by the blasts.

And as quickly as it had started, it was over. The rocket batteries fell silent. Anna stepped back into the tent. There was not a single dot to be seen on the radar screens. Whatever Voldemort's 'apocalypse weapon' or 'game changing tactics' had been, it had all but crumbled against the might of the _Nichtmagier_. At least this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry is not supposed to know exactly what's going on during the questioning scene at the border and could only read what's happening based off of Hermione's expressions and mannerisms. That was why that scene was so heavy with French. You are reading Harry's POV, and (unless you speak French) you, the reader, are not supposed to understand what they're saying.
> 
> Translations:
> 
> French:
> 
> Je n'ai reçu pas votre numéro d'identification sur la liste de ceux, qui passeront la frontière aujourd'hui. = I did not receive your ID number on the list of those who were going to cross the border today.
> 
> Nous avons été soudainement appelés pour une mission. = We were suddenly called up for a mission.
> 
> Pourquoi vous allez à l'Allemagne ? = Why are you going to Germany?
> 
> Parce que nous devons…pacifier…les combattants de la résistance. = Because we have to…pacify…the resistance fighters.
> 
> Bitburg ? C'est bordel loin en territoire ennemi ! Nous n'avons pas contrôle au sud de la ville de Prüm ! = Bitburg? That's really [swear] far in enemy territory! We don't control anything south of the city of Prüm!
> 
> Posse les questions de sécurité et ne perds pas plus de temps, bordel. = Ask the security questions and be done with it, [swear].
> 
> Au service du grand Empereur Eternel. = In service of the great Eternal Emperor.
> 
> Le lieu de naissance de notre Régent. = The place of birth of our Regent.
> 
> Sur les pentes de Ben Nevis. = On the slopes of Ben Nevis. (A/N: Kim Il-Sung, the 'Eternal President' of North Korea, was said to be born on the slopes of Mount Paektu. The analogy here is obvious.)
> 
> Et ton nom, mademoiselle ? = And your name, Miss?
> 
> Ce n'était pas une des questions de sécurité. = That wasn't one of the security questions.
> 
> Vous ne sont pas les 'policiers politique' ! Vous êtes anglais ! Tu as un accent indubitable, bordel ! Et vos réponses, ils sont fabriqués, bordel ! Sortez de la voiture. Maintenant ! = You aren't 'political police' officers! You are English! You have an unmistakable accent, [swear]! And your answers, they were faked, [swear]! Get out of the car. Now!
> 
> German:
> 
> Widerstandskommando West = Resistance Command West


	12. XI: Enter the Stronghold

The Dark Lord watched as the muggle writhed on the marble floor in abject pain as he was held under the Cruciatus Curse. Normally, this would have brought him some measure of relief from his fury, but today, it did nothing.

He had expended three thousand of his Inferi-soldiers on the attack against Trier. But not only had he not managed to achieve the results he had seen at Saarlouis, he had hardly achieved anything at all. From what Rookwood had reported, his muggle army had found, just hours after the attack, that the city had been completely undamaged.

The Dark Lord wished that he had spies in Germany, but he had always had trouble getting them into the Germans' resistance organisation – or even into their territories. All the spies that he had sent had either disappeared outright or had sent back meaningless information for a week before disappearing, too. Without spies, he could not possibly find out what sort of weapon that the resistance had used to stop the attack dead in its tracks.

He knew that it had to be some sort of muggle weapon. He had grown up in London during one of the great muggle wars, after all, and had some idea of what they were capable of. But to destroy an army of his unkillable Inferi-soldiers…only the firestorm in Saarlouis had managed to do that. What could the muggles' pathetic substitute for magic – airplanes, bombs, guns – possibly do against them?

But the Dark Lord was nothing if not intelligent and adaptive. The facts were clear. The Germans' resistance, composed of mostly muggles, had managed to wreak havoc on his Inferi army. How they did it was unimportant for now, he thought. What was important was that he would have to adapt his tactics.

The situation in Russia was not going as favourably as the Dark Lord had hoped, and he knew that the eventual invasion would face far more resistance than it did anywhere else. He had hoped to use his Inferi army against the muggle Russian Army, but now, he had to think twice. Perhaps it would not be a good idea to directly engage the Russians, after all.

The Dark Lord sent one of his attendants for Rookwood. If there was one person in the sea of his incompetent or weak servants who he could at least have some faith in the advice of, it was him.

Rookwood immediately kneeled in front of the Dark Lord when he arrived several minutes later. The man was one of the very few that showed respect towards him, but not debilitating fear leading to cowardice. Another reason for Rookwood's high place within his ranks.

'My Lord?'

'Stand, Rookwood,' the Dark Lord said. 'We have much to discuss.'

'I apologise for the mishap at Trier, My Lord,' Rookwood said reflexively. 'I did not know the true nature and number of their forces.'

'All has already been forgiven, Rookwood,' the Dark Lord assured. 'The results of whatever the German scum had come up with is not any fault of yours.'

'Thank you for your mercy, My Lord.'

The Dark Lord nodded. 'The Dark Lord is merciful to his faithful servants, Rookwood. Nevertheless, as things stand, we have much to speak about.'

'Yes, My Lord?'

'If the German muggles, with their limited resources, could manage such a toll against our Inferi army, what could the Russians, with far more preparation, achieve?' the Dark Lord posited.

'My Lord, they are simply muggles,' Rookwood replied. 'They cannot possibly stand a chance against your creations deployed in the numbers we hope to. What's more, the situation in Russia is not conducive to their preparedness.'

'I agree, Rookwood, but seeing the results of the Trier raid, we cannot be so sure of the Inferi's success. Even if they have been improved to resist flame damage, the muggles may still have other means of destroying them that we do not know of. And they obviously do, if what we have seen says anything.'

'I believe that employing them en masse will make a difference, My Lord.'

The Dark Lord nodded. 'I believe so, as well. However, I still believe that a shift in tactics may be…prudent…to assure our success in the Russia operation.'

'What is your idea, My Lord?'

'I believe that…in place of a full attack by the muggle army and our Inferi-soldiers…we should attempt to weaken the Russians through…other means…first.'

'Do you mean to say that the political situation in Russia is, still, not yet favourable, My Lord?' Rookwood asked, sounding a little confused.

'No, Rookwood. It is not as much in our advantage as I would have liked, but that does not mean that it is unfavourable,' the Dark Lord replied. 'What I had meant was that our initial plans for a massive invasion of the country might not be…the best course of action.'

'I have full confidence in our forces' ability to crush the muggle filth, My Lord. Our invasions have all succeeded flawlessly so far. Why do you believe that this time could be different?'

'I do not believe for a minute that we will fail to conquer Russia, Rookwood. Yet, if the Russians have a way to counter our Inferi-soldiers like the Germans did, we will lose the numbers advantage on the muggle side,' the Dark Lord answered. 'And, as vile as the thought is, the muggles may then turn their weapons against us, which may lead to greater losses of our magical forces.'

'The muggles will never manage to score a victory against our wizards,' Rookwood sneered. 'They might manage to kill our Inferi-soldiers, but they will never win against their superiors in a fair fight.'

'Correct, Rookwood. And as a result, they will not fight fair,' the Dark Lord replied. 'They will use underhanded tactics to give themselves an unfair advantage. It would be unwise to meet them on their terms, on their turf, fighting a war their way, when we could…press our own advantage instead.'

'What do you suggest, My Lord?' Rookwood asked, sounding a little intrigued. 'I will do my best to carry out any and all that you order.'

'I believe…that we must subdue the people first,' the Dark Lord said slowly. 'Our forces made a mistake in Germany, where we did not manage to fully crush the embers of resistance before we moved in, and we are reaping the rewards of our mistake through our lack of control in the countryside and several minor cities. Muggles are weak, Rookwood. You understand this. When they see overwhelming might being exerted through means that they do not understand, they will scatter and run like the cowards they are.'

'How do you propose to do this, My Lord?'

The Dark Lord took a long pause, thinking. 'Terror,' he replied finally. 'Magical terror that the muggles will not be able to explain away. We will burn cities, massacre villages, destroy their buildings. There will come a point where the muggles will have had enough and turn against their government. And then…it will be our turn to move in…and by then, all possible resistance would have been wiped out.'

'My Lord…if I may…how do you plan to accomplish such an operation? The Russian magical government was bound to have put up many layers of defensive and alert wards along their border.'

'We will find a way around them,' the Dark Lord replied confidently. 'Their pathetic efforts will never stand up against the Dark Lord.'

* * *

Harry felt as if the apparition was taking longer than usual, or perhaps his adrenaline was slowing down his perception of time. Suddenly, he fell clumsily out of the tube of apparition through which he had been squeezed. He landed roughly on his back, hitting his head against the ground.

When he came to his senses, he found himself lying on a forest floor. He sat up. Hermione and Neville were a few metres away, groaning as they stirred and sat up. Daphne remained immobile on the ground, still in the semi-conscious state that Hermione had put her into.

'Harry!' Hermione shrieked in relief. She looked around, counted all four of them, and let out a breath.

Harry smiled weakly at her. 'Is this where you had wanted to come?'

Hermione looked around again and nodded nervously. 'I think so. I mean…I don't know what it looks like from the ground…but it's a forest…'

That was good enough for Harry. 'Hermione, the tent,' he said. 'Let's get the tent put up and we can treat her. Neville, put up the defensive enchantments.'

Hermione Summoned the tent from her bag, and she and Harry erected it by magic. Neville paced around them in a circle, muttering the protective enchantments as he went.

'Your face, come here,' Hermione said quietly. ' _Vulnera Sanentur._ ' The blood trickling down Harry's face stopped. ' _Vulnera Sanentur_.' The dried blood caked on Harry's face cleared. ' _Vulnera Sanentur_.' He felt his wound close.

'There, as handsome as ever,' Hermione said with a small but tender smile. 'Come on, let's bring Daphne inside.'

Harry and Neville lifted Daphne by the shoulders and legs, respectively, and set her down on a bunk inside the tent. Hermione cut open the top of her jeans so that she could get a better look at her thigh.

'Four hits,' she muttered. 'We could extract the bullets and heal her if there are no broken bones, but if there are…we might need Skele-Gro…and we don't have that.'

Hermione waved her wand a few times, performing an examination before breathing a sigh of relief. 'The bone's only fractured…that'll be easy enough to fix…so will the flesh wounds…I thought it'd have been a lot worse…'

Harry said nothing. He snuck a glance at Neville, who was sitting on a chair to his right. He was looking anxious and frightened. Harry was not quite certain of the nature of the relationship between Neville and Daphne, but he knew that if it had been Hermione that had been lying on the bunk, in limbo between consciousness and unconsciousness with four bullet wounds on her legs, Harry would be at least as pale as Neville was right now.

' _Accio Bullet,_ ' Hermione said, waving her wand over one of the bullet wounds. A small, bloody lump of misshapen metal flew out and into Hermione's hand. She grimaced a little and Vanished it. She repeated the process three more times, extracting the other rounds before passing her wand over the wounds, sealing them with the same spell that she had used on Harry's face earlier.

Hermione pointed her wand at Daphne's still body. ' _Rennervate_ ,' she muttered.

The raven-haired girl's eyes shot open and she sat bolt upright. 'What's going on?' she breathed. 'Did we get away? Where…? What…?'

'We got away,' Harry said, letting a breath of relief leave him. 'Barely, but we got away. Hermione apparated all of us to the middle of some forest. She put you into a semi-conscious state before we escaped.'

Daphne looked around the tent. 'We apparated? And we've set up camp? Do you think they'll track us?'

Hermione shook her head tentatively. 'I don't think so. The guard at the border…he said that Riddle's forces don't control anything south of this city…uh…Prüm, I think. I thought that if the resistance here was strong enough to hold actual territory…they might be strong enough to counter any anti-apparition jinxes or alert wards _near_ their territory. And plus, the secret police might think twice about attacking us when we're so close to the resistance-held areas.'

'Good thinking,' Daphne said approvingly, visibly relaxing. 'You didn't kill them all?'

'No,' Harry answered. 'They brought in a tank. There wasn't a whole lot three of us can do against a bunch of infantry and a tank on top.'

'I'm sorry,' Daphne muttered.

'There's no reason to be,' Harry said. 'For what, anyway? And we got away. That's all that matters.'

'But if you hadn't…because you were one down…'

'Then you would have much more pressing concerns than saying sorry to us,' Harry joked darkly.

'So do we go south and hope we run into a resistance patrol?' Daphne asked.

Hermione shook her head. 'Not tonight. You need rest. I magically healed several deep wounds…your magic will be exhausted. Not to mention we all just barely fought through a massive ambush. We'll rest here tonight and go on tomorrow.'

'I'll take first watch,' Neville said immediately, grabbing his wand, turning, and stalking out of the tent entrance. Harry shot Hermione a confused glance, to which she shrugged slightly.

Harry expected an attack all through the night, but none came. It seemed that Hermione had been right to intuit that the secret police and the GBS – or rather, the SA – would not dare attack them here, so close to the resistance-held areas. Through the entire night, there was no sight nor sound of neither the magical nor muggle secret police.

At daybreak, they broke up the camp. Daphne was walking normally, as if she had never been shot. Sometimes, even after more than a decade of being immersed in the magical world, Harry could still not help but marvel at the wonders of magic.

Hermione had a map in one hand and her wand in the other, casting a Four-Point Spell. 'The guard at the border said that Bitburg was in the hands of the resistance,' she recalled. 'That's directly south of us along _Autobahn_ 60\. That's about six hours away…but if what the secret police officer said was true…we wouldn't need to go anywhere near as far as that.'

They cancelled their protective enchantments and began their trek through the forest – under Disillusionment Charms just to be safe. All was silent except for the chirping of the birds or the rustling of the leaves. Occasionally, they passed a knocked-out tank or a destroyed armoured car, some of which looked rather recent.

'So that explains why they didn't hunt for us last night,' Hermione breathed as they passed by the ghastly sight of a tank that had belonged to the secret police that was missing its turret. Charred corpses lay by its side, one of them holding a pistol.

'I wouldn't want to come anywhere near here if I were a secret police officer,' Harry agreed, repressing an urge to retch.

The number of destroyed vehicles increased in frequency as they continued. Harry thought that that must be a sure sign that they were getting closer. Occasionally, he could see piles of spent cartridges on the ground, or explosion craters, or uprooted trees. The graveyard of Voldemort's failed incursions stretched on and on.

Suddenly, the forest in front of Harry disappeared and morphed into a wide, ploughed earth control strip. At the same time, he felt his Disillusionment fade. But before he was able to take a step back, he heard the clicks of several machine gun charging handles, and a bright searchlight that blinded him even in the growing light of day.

' _Identifizieren Sie sich!_ ' a gruff voice shouted over what might have been a megaphone. ' _Sie betreten das Gebiet des Widerstands!_ '

Harry thought he had heard the man say something about 'identify', but he did not know how to respond. What if he answered wrong and the guard thought that he was a threat? What if they mistook them for the secret police?

' _Identifiez-vous !_ ' the voice tried again in French. ' _Vous entrez le territoire de la résistance allemande !_ '

' _Nous ne sommes vos ennemies !_ ' Hermione yelled back.

' _Nom ?_ '

Hermione hesitated for a second, clearly debating whether or not she should lie. 'Hermione Granger,' she replied finally, deciding on the truth.

' _Et vos compagnons. Identifiez-vous._ '

'Harry Potter,' Harry answered. Neville and Daphne shouted their names after him.

The searchlight shut off at once. When Harry's eyes adjusted, he saw in front of him an impressive line of fortifications. There were trenches, machine-gun nests, and what looked like minefields. A high steel-and-concrete wall stood behind all that. Behind that stood several watchtowers, on top of which stood uniformed soldiers armed with sniper rifles and machine guns. In front of it all was a wide band of barbed wire that ran as far as Harry could see in either direction.

'You are English?' the same voice asked.

'Yes,' Hermione called back.

'You will surrender your weapons and submit to a mandatory search of your person. Do not try to conceal anything, or the results will be fatal,' the voice said. 'You will be kept in isolation for one hour, during which time you will submit to questioning. If you are cleared, your weapons and possessions will be returned to you. Do you agree to these terms?'

Hermione shot Harry an understanding look and mouthed, ' _Polyjuice_.'

'We agree,' Harry yelled.

A section of barbed wire magically vanished, and a small gangway appeared over the trenches. At the same time, a section of the concrete wall disappeared, and out marched six soldiers, all carrying either assault rifles or machine guns.

The troops stopped in front of the foursome. 'Weapons.'

They dutifully handed over their rifles to the soldiers, who inspected them and talked amongst themselves in German for a few seconds before the lead officer turned back towards Harry and the group.

'Any other weapons?' he asked, the tone of his voice making it clear that he was referring to wands.

Harry withdrew the Elder Wand from his pocket and handed it over, somewhat reluctantly. The other three handed their own wands over as well.

'Follow us,' the officer ordered curtly.

Three of the soldiers led them forward, while three others brought up the rear. They passed the perimeter wall and it magically closed behind them. Behind that was a ring containing the watchtowers, behind which was yet another wall. They walked past and it, too, closed automagically behind them.

Harry had never seen a military base except in bad – often American – movies. But where he found himself now looked remarkably similar to the film portrayals. On either side of a wide, paved road were buildings and tents. Vehicles were parked between them. Harry even spotted a few helicopters.

The soldiers led them to a decently sized brick building off to their right. 'Sit,' the lead officer commanded, pointing at a row of sofas. 'You will be called for questioning. We will leave your weapons with the _Kommandant_. You will receive them if you are released after your interview.'

They waited for fifteen or so minutes before a young female officer with long brown hair arrived. 'Miss Hermione Granger?' she called.

'It'll be fine,' Hermione reassured Harry as she stood up, pecking him on the lips. 'See you later.'

Harry continued to wait, during which time both Neville and Daphne were called in by two new arrivals. About forty minutes after they first arrived, Hermione came out of the room and shot Harry a grin, sitting down next to him.

'It was fine,' she whispered. 'They used Veritaserum, I think, but it was just the standard "who are you, what are you here for" thing. I just have to wait here for another half-hour under guard to check for Polyjuice.'

The officer that had interviewed Hermione peeked out of her room. 'Mister Harry Potter?'

Hermione squeezed Harry's hand as he stood up, smiling at him. He crossed the waiting room and followed the woman into a surprisingly open and well-lit space. There were two comfortable-looking armchairs on either side of a small, round table.

'Good morning,' the woman said in a nearly perfect UK accent. She stuck out her hand and Harry shook it. She was acting quite friendly, but Harry could see a cold and cautious look in her eyes. Harry did not let down his guard, yet at the same time tried not to act too stiff and possibly suspicious.

'Good morning,' Harry replied simply.

'Please, take a seat.'

Harry sat down obediently across from the woman. She slid across a cup of water. 'Drink, please.'

He eyed it warily. He knew from what Hermione had told him that they had used some variation of Veritaserum. He was more than certain that this cup of water was laced with the potion. But he had no other choice. This was a matter of getting out of here alive, after all. He picked up the cup and drank.

Immediately, he felt a sense of calm wash over him. Somehow, he was suddenly aware of another person sharing his consciousness. The other person was not saying or doing anything, but his presence seemed indisputable.

'What is your name?' the woman asked.

Suddenly, the other person in his head spoke. ' _Tell her_ ,' he seemed to say in Harry's voice. ' _Tell her the truth_.' It was repeating it over and over again, and Harry could not fight it. Not that he wanted to. The voice was making it easy. The answer was right at the tip of his tongue.

'Harry James Potter,' he replied obediently.

'Where did you come from?'

'We came from France through Belgium,' Harry answered. 'But we originally escaped from Britain.'

'Are you aware of where you are?'

Harry felt himself nod. 'In a base of the German resistance.'

'Why did you escape?'

'Because Voldemort was chasing after us,' Harry replied effortlessly. 'He was tracking us in some way and was hunting us down with the SES and muggle secret police.'

There was a short pause. Harry thought he could see the woman's face pale.

'And have you been tracked since?' she asked, quieter.

'No. They seemed to have lost track of us when we crossed into France.'

'What are your intentions for being here?'

'To find others to fight back against Voldemort,' Harry answered. The small part of his conscious mind registered how easily he had answered such a loaded question.

The woman pushed across another glass of water. 'Drink this, please.'

Harry picked up the glass of water and raised it to his mouth, but the potion seemed to have negatively influenced his hand-eye coordination. As he drank, he felt water drip from the side of the cup, down his chin, and onto his shirt.

When Harry got to his senses, he saw the woman laughing. His face burned in embarrassment, and he automatically reached for his wand, only to realise that it had been taken from him when he arrived.

'Let me do that for you,' the woman said through giggles. She drew her wand and waved it once, drying Harry's shirt. She returned it to her pocket and managed to suppress her laughs with difficulty.

'I will tell my children one day that I saw the "Chosen One" splash water all over his clothes like a three-year-old,' she chortled. 'We have not been properly introduced. I am Anna von Hartmann.'

'Good to meet you…Missus? Miss? Von Hartmann. Uh…I'm Harry Potter…but I think you know that already,' Harry said with a shy smile.

'Anna is fine,' von Hartmann – Anna – said. 'I am barely two years older than you, I think. There is no reason to call me Miss or _Fräulein_ or whatever. And don't even get started on Missus.' She shuddered a little at the thought of that.

Harry chuckled awkwardly. 'So this is the German resistance?' he asked, changing the subject.

Anna nodded. 'Yes. This is a forward base of the German resistance. We are based in Trier, maybe fifty or so kilometres south of here. This is only the western region, though. There are other groups all over the country that control small areas.'

Harry could not help but look impressed. Anna must have caught on to this. 'Things are different in Britain?' she asked.

Harry snorted cynically. 'There is no such thing as the resistance in Britain. For all I know, the four of us were the last of it.'

'None even among the non-magicals?'

Harry sighed. 'Not that I know of, at least. Are the magical and non-magical resistance combined here?'

'For the most part, I think so,' Anna replied. 'There are probably small non-magical or magical cells operating around the country independent of us, but mostly, we're combined, yes.' She grinned devilishly. 'I like to think that we are doing the one thing Voldemort fears the most.'

Harry could not help but bark a laugh. 'You are. But what about the Statute of Secrecy?'

'Rules are meant to be broken, are they not?' Anna asked rhetorically, continuing to smirk. Harry could not help but agree with her point. 'Voldemort is doing it, so why should we not? And plus, it is not like we are shouting about magic to the entire population. It is only kept within the higher-ranking command and select non-magical units that operate together with magical ones.'

'Just like the SES and muggle secret police back in Britain,' Harry muttered. 'Or the GBS in France.'

Anna nodded darkly. 'We call them the SA here…ironically fitting that Voldemort chose _that_ particular abbreviation for his magical secret police. Nevertheless, yes, we fight fire with fire.'

'We passed the destroyed tanks as we came here,' Harry recalled the ghastly sights of the charred corpses.

'Ah…Voldemort never does learn,' Anna said. 'He has been sending his forces against us since perhaps the first day he took over. The only trouble is, he has no understanding of how to use magical forces in tandem with conventional ones. The magical forces charge ahead, firing off curses, only to be cut down by marksmen and machine guns. Then, when the non-magical forces reach us several minutes later, we're ready with artillery, rockets, and curses.'

'Is that how you fight against Voldemort's army?' Harry asked, intrigued.

Anna just smiled mysteriously. 'That information, Mister Potter, is for the select members of the resistance only. I am sure you can understand why.'

'It's just Harry,' he corrected. 'We met someone in France that insisted on calling me " _Monsieur Potter_ ". He was a decent man, but you cannot even begin to imagine how stuffy that felt.'

Anna laughed. 'Yes, I can completely empathise. Just Harry, then.'

'Thanks,' Harry chortled. 'And about the resistance…'

Anna raised an eyebrow, turning serious. 'Yes?'

'Well…I want to fight.'

'Interestingly, your friend, Miss Granger, said the same thing,' Anna mused. 'And…well…we are always desperate for help…'

Harry sensed a 'but' in there somewhere, so he said nothing and waited for the other shoe to drop.

'But Schumacher is always reluctant to recruit…refugees,' she finished.

'Why?' Harry asked, his 'Leader of the Order' instincts kicking in. 'Why would this Schumacher voluntarily give up more manpower?'

'He thinks that Voldemort could sneak spies through the flow of people coming in,' Anna answered disapprovingly. 'He is not…wrong. Not in his concern, at least. We have caught many spies that have tried to enter this way. But Schumacher also forgets the important fact that we _have_ caught them, and instead lets his worry grow into paranoia.'

'So we can't help,' Harry mumbled dejectedly. A part of him was not surprised, but he was disappointed all the same. What could he do to help? Was he fated to hide forever, never to fight back against Voldemort ever again because the fractured resistance movements do not trust him?

'I did not say that,' Anna refuted. 'Even a non-magical career officer like Schumacher knows who you are. If you insist…I don't think he will say no.'

'Well, I insist,' Harry said resolutely. 'We've all been hiding and running for far too long. We want to do something. We want to fight. At least for a while…and maybe find a way to defeat Voldemort.'

Anna nodded and checked her watch. 'You have been here for about an hour already. Well…I will take you by train south to Trier and see if _der Generalleutnant_ is available. I would normally go by apparition, but the stationary defensive enchantments…I believe your colloquial term is "wards"?…will not recognise you and might actually end up killing you.'

She stood up and opened the door. Harry followed her back into the waiting room. Hermione, Daphne, and Neville were all sitting there, looking a little anxious but instantly relaxing when they caught sight of him. Hermione shot to her feet and hugged him tightly.

Anna disappeared for a few minutes and came back with their wands and rifles and handed them back. She led the foursome out back onto the central 'boulevard' of the resistance base, away from the perimeter fortifications through which they had entered. At the edge of the base was a small 'railroad station'. A single track led from its singular 'platform' into the forest beyond.

Anna checked her watch again. 'The train runs once in either direction once every two hours. We'll have to wait another ten minutes, I think.'

They waited with silent anticipation. At ten before noon, Harry heard a loud air-horn, then the sound of a diesel engine. Out of the forest came a red locomotive pulling two carriages. The train screeched to a stop. The doors opened, and twenty-or-so heavily armed soldiers got out. When they caught sight of Anna, they all saluted respectfully.

'Changing of the guard,' Anna explained. 'They are relieving the night shift. Let's get on, or we won't get seats when the guards arrive.'

They followed Anna and climbed onto the train. The interior was of an old design, somewhat reminiscent of the Hogwarts Express, but immaculately maintained. Harry suspected that it must have been the work of magic. Anna slid open a compartment door and the five of them climbed in.

A few minutes later, Harry heard boots coming down the hall. Instinctively, he tensed, reminded of the sound of the secret police's goose steps. But the soldiers who climbed on board were not hostile. Their lead officer saluted to Anna as he saw her, and he and his men passed their compartment without another word.

'I'm honestly tired of this,' Anna admitted. 'Everyone saluting me when they pass. It was fun in the first week, but now it's just annoying. You can only have a certain level of formal stuffiness in your life, you see?'

Harry smiled weakly, knowing exactly how it felt, as the train horn sounded. He heard the carriage doors slam shut and the train jerked forward, pulling out of the station.

'There did not used to be a railway line here,' Anna said as the train sped through the forest on its way south. 'This line was constructed to bring reinforcements from the headquarters at Trier north to _die Binnengrenze_. We built this line in a week with magic.'

The train continued its journey, sometimes crossing woods, sometimes crossing open fields. Harry occasionally saw artillery guns, missile launchers, or even tanks in the distance. He could not help but be awed by the wealth of equipment that the Germans had. Back in Britain, they had had access to almost nothing.

'There used to be an air base slightly to the east of here,' Anna explained, seeing Harry's impressed expression. 'The American air force had planes based there, and it so happened that there were also tanks and other heavy equipment. Of course, Schumacher also snatched up as much as he could get his claws on from the East. So we ended up with a lot of former Soviet equipment. Anti-aircraft missiles, T-72's, Kalashnikovs…whatever you could possibly want.'

'Is Schumacher like…the leader here?' Hermione asked.

Anna shrugged. 'In a way. There is still a civilian government, but they mostly listen to whatever the resistance says. Schumacher is a former Lieutenant General of the _Bundeswehr_. He's a little…old-fashioned…but generally, he does a decent job running things.'

'You said that a lot of people fleeing Voldemort's rule come here,' Harry said, a little absently, as he stared out the window at the fields rushing past.

'Yes,' Anna replied. 'We process around forty to fifty refugees each day across all our checkpoints, perhaps.'

'Who are these people, generally?' Hermione asked, curious.

'People born from non-magical parents and their families, mostly,' Anna answered. 'A good number of half-bloods, some pure-bloods, as well as non-magicals who have spoken out against him in some way.'

'There are also former politicians from France and Belgium here,' she added, frowning almost imperceptibly. 'Both from the magical and non-magical side.'

Harry thought that he could hear a veiled tone of distaste in Anna's voice. He remembered what he had seen in France and wondered how he would feel to be risking his life, fighting against Voldemort and bringing muggle-borns to safety, while the leaders who were supposed to defend the welfare of the country hid themselves away in safer lands. He could not help but scowl at their cowardice.

The journey continued for twenty or so more minutes, with the five of them mostly making small talk. Anna seemed genuinely glad to talk to people around her age who did not treat her like a frightening superior. Another thing that Harry could easily connect with.

They entered a long tunnel and emerged into a low river valley between two ranges of hills. The area around the line was more built-up now. They crossed a narrow river into what was clearly a medium-sized city. Through the gaps in the buildings, Harry could see people milling around, going about their daily business as if there were no war going on.

The train gradually slowed down before coming to a stop in a station. Anna stood up.

'Welcome to Trier,' she said with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to maschl for all his help with almost every aspect of this story as well as for all the German translations. Thank you to W H Rutledge for his beta work. If you have not already, go check out maschl's I See No Difference as well as W H Rutledge's various excellent stories!
> 
> Translations:
> 
> German + French:
> 
> Identifizieren Sie sich! Sie betreten das Gebiet des Widerstands! = Identifiez-vous ! Vous entrez le territoire de la résistance allemande ! = Identify yourselves! You are entering the territory of the German resistance!
> 
> French:
> 
> Et vos compagnons. Identifiez-vous. = And your companions. Identify yourselves.


	13. XII: Widerstand

Anna opened the carriage doors, and Harry, Hermione, and the others stepped out onto the sheltered platform. The soldiers trooped out behind them and marched off without another word. Behind the train, Harry could see lush green hills overlooking the city, on top of which, evenly spaced, stood several watchtowers.

Even having seen the city from the train, Harry was still surprised by its liveliness when he stepped out of the train station and onto the street. There were normal people walking this way and that, going about their daily business. But even here, it was not all 'normal'. The residents' faces bore a distinct look of unease and nervousness. Some were even walking around with assault rifles slung over their shoulders, no doubt anticipating an attack to come at any time.

'How many fighters are there?' Hermione asked, also seeing the prolific distribution of weapons.

'The people walking down the street with Kalashnikovs?' Anna asked in reply. Hermione nodded. 'Those are not _really_ fighters. We arm everyone over the age of eighteen, just in case they are needed to defend the city.'

'And have they ever?' Hermione pressed.

Anna shook her head. 'Mercifully, no. The city has been attacked, but we have never had to resort to that kind of fight…unlike some other places…'

'What do you mean?'

'Have you heard about what happened at Saarlouis?'

All four of them shook their heads.

Anna took a deep breath. 'The city was firebombed and burned to the ground. Then, they sent in the army.'

'And they occupied it?' Harry asked.

'That is where everything becomes very strange,' Anna continued. 'One would think that they would occupy the city – more land, a launchpad to attack northwards – but they did not. Instead, Voldemort simply burned his own army to death.'

Hermione gasped. 'Burned his own army to death? You mean…literally?'

'Yes,' Anna replied simply. 'Literally.'

'But why?'

Anna shrugged. 'That is where the mystery is. Voldemort tried the same attack on Trier, as well. But…well…I think it is pretty obvious that it did not work.'

They walked down the narrow streets of the city, passing by shops, restaurants, and even a cinema, all of which were open for business. It was so unlike what Harry remembered from Britain, or even what he had seen in France, that he almost thought that it was all a hallucination.

Anna turned down a wide street, and Harry found himself standing right in front of a grey, austere-looking higher-rise building that felt out-of-place in the midst of the old city. Two menacing-looking soldiers holding assault rifles were standing on either side of the front door.

'Headquarters,' Anna said. 'Not a pretty building if I say so myself, but Schumacher _is_ a career officer whose artistic tastes are…limited.'

Anna reached into her pocket and pulled out an ID. The guard standing on the left side of the door nodded, then looked at Harry and the others. He said something to Anna in German, and she spoke back concisely. The two guards nodded and waved them forward.

'Schumacher's office is on the sixth floor. Follow me.'

The inside of the building was just as austere as the outside. It was illuminated by rows of fluorescent lights and the floor was paved in simple tiles. Anna led them into a lift. The interior was immaculately clean but just as severe as the building it was in.

The doors opened, and the five of them stepped out into an outer office. There was a secretary sitting behind a desk. Her expression upon recognising Anna made it obvious to Harry that she was not at all thrilled to see her.

' _Brigadegeneral von Hartmann, Sie sind wieder da? Was wollen Sie?_ '

' _Was vermuten Sie?_ ' Anna replied, sounding impatient. ' _Ich muss den Generalleutnant sprechen_.'

' _Haben Sie einen Termin?_ ' the secretary asked, sounding bored.

Anna glared at the woman. ' _Sie wissen, dass ich keinen Termin habe. Könnten Sie bitte aufhören, meine Zeit zu verschwenden? Das hier ist wirklich wichtig._ '

The secretary exaggerated a sigh, scowled at Anna, then stood up and knocked on a wooden door behind her. She exchanged a few words with a man who Harry presumed to be Schumacher, then turned back towards Anna and nodded her in.

'Come on. Let's not waste any more of dear _Frau Baumann_ 's time,' Anna said. The secretary glared at her, seemingly knowing that she had just insulted her – or perhaps it was standard procedure. Harry honestly did not know at this point.

The general was sitting behind his desk. He was a heavyset man with greying blond hair. A cigar was smouldering in an ashtray in front of a pile of papers. He was wearing a slate-coloured dress uniform, complete with a red beret. Harry immediately could see the point Anna had made about the general being rather stuffy and old-fashioned.

' _Guten Tag, Brigadegeneral von Hartmann_ ,' the man said in a deep voice that jogged a vague, long-lost memory of Kingsley.

Anna nodded dryly. ' _Guten Tag, Generalleutnant_.'

The general's eyes shifted to Harry, then to Hermione, then to Neville and Daphne. ' _Und wer sind_ _Ihre Begleiter_ _?_ '

' _Das is Harry Potter_ ,' Anna said, gesturing towards Harry. ' _Und sie ist Hermione Granger_. _Und die anderen zwei_ _heißen_ _Neville Longbottom und Daphne Greengrass._ '

The general's eyes widened. ' _Engländer?_ '

' _Ja._ '

The general hesitated, looking unsure as to what to do. Harry could almost see the gears of his mind turning in his head. After a long moment, he finally turned towards Harry.

' _Willkommen_ in our city,' he said in heavily accented English.

'Thank you,' Harry replied a little unsurely.

' _Ja._ It is me an honour, you to meet, _Herr Potter_.What is it, where for you here are to do?' the general asked.

It took Harry a moment to work out what he had meant, and another moment to decide on what to say. 'We want to fight with you,' he replied.

The general's eyebrows raised. Harry could see that he was struggling in his head to translate his response into English. Fortunately for him, Anna stepped in.

' _Sie mussten aus Großbritannien fliehen_ ,' she said. ' _Sie wurden verfolgt und angegriffen von Voldemort._ '

Schumacher nodded at Anna but turned back to Harry. 'And you are here came?'

Harry took another few seconds to figure out what the general had said before nodding.

'And you want for us fight.'

Harry nodded again.

The general pondered for several moments, sizing each of them up with his eyes, clearly contemplating whether he should accede to their request. Hermione looked distinctively uncomfortable, and to be perfectly honest, he was, too. He resisted an urge to take her hand.

Finally, the general turned to Anna. ' _Brauchen Sie mehr Personal?_ '

' _Immer_.'

The general nodded slowly and turned back to Harry, Hermione, and the others. ' _Sehr gut_. You can the group of Anna join. She would happy, you to take. Have you weapons?'

The four of them nodded and pointed to the rifles on their shoulders. The general looked almost approvingly at them. He said a few final words to Anna before dismissing them all.

'I thought it would've been harder,' Neville said when they exited out onto the street.

'It probably would have been,' Anna agreed lightly. 'But like I said, even someone like Schumacher knows your names. He knows that you probably are trustworthy, and anyway, it would be a huge propaganda boost to have the "Chosen One" fighting with him.'

'Great…I'm being used for my name again,' Harry mumbled.

Hermione touched his arm consolingly. 'I'm sorry,' she commiserated in a whisper. 'But at least you – we – got what we wanted.'

Harry nodded. She was right. Now, in the middle of a continent-wide war, was not the time to worry about how his name was being used by his allies. But it did not stop him from getting at least a little annoyed.

'You need accommodations,' Anna said suddenly, slapping her forehead. Harry looked at her, momentarily confused.

She raised an eyebrow. 'You can't live out of a tent, can you?'

Harry felt himself blush, for that was exactly what they had been doing for the past week. 'Uh…well…'

Anna snorted. 'Okay…so you _can_ live out of a tent. But would it not be nice to have a real roof over your heads for a change?'

'It would…but we don't have anywhere near enough money to buy a flat,' Hermione said in a small voice. 'And…it's not even like we know anyone in the city…'

Anna smirked. 'You know me, do you not? I do not look or act like one most of the time, but I _am_ still a brigadier general in the resistance organisation…you don't think I would let you sleep on the street, do you?'

'But…we don't want to cause trouble for you,' Hermione protested feebly.

'It is no trouble at all,' Anna waved her off. 'There is a house opposite our unit's primary housing that is assigned to us to allow for 'expansion'. Well, this counts as an expansion, does it not?'

Hermione chuckled. 'Well…I guess.'

'Then it's yours,' Anna decided. 'You can live out of it for as long as you stay here.' She turned to them suddenly. 'How long _are_ you planning to stay here?'

All four of them exchanged a look and considered the question. How long would they stay? From what they had seen in the half-day that they had been here, the Germans had the most organised resistance movement that they had ever seen. But could they defeat Voldemort? Harry did not know.

And would he stay if they could not?

He did not know the answer to that question, either.

'We don't know,' he answered, deciding to be truthful.

Anna shrugged. 'That's understandable. Well, no point to dwell on it, I guess. Let me just show you to your new home.'

They walked across the river along a narrow bridge and came to a block of houses at the foot of a small hill. Anna led them to a nondescript door on the right side of the road. She drew her wand discreetly and opened it with a silent Unlocking Charm.

'This is it,' she said, waving her wand once and turning on all the lights. Harry looked around and found himself standing in the middle of a well-furnished lounge. There was a flight of stairs that led up to a mezzanine 'bedroom', and several other doors that Harry surmised led to more bedrooms or bathrooms. It was nothing like anything they had had in Britain after the Third War had begun, and certainly not like the ramshackle house that they had commandeered in Dieppe.

'Amazed?' Anna chortled.

'A little,' Harry admitted.

'Well, I'll leave you to be amazed,' Anna said. 'I'll give you the night to get settled. Tomorrow morning, at eight, please come over. I will introduce you to everyone. I will explain how we do things then. Until then, if you have anything urgent, I am right across the street.'

The four of them thanked her and she departed. Harry watched her leave with almost a sense of longing. Inexplicably, her attitude and mannerisms reminded him of Tonks. A surge of pain shot through him at the thought. She and Remus had been gone for more than six years now…and Andromeda and Teddy…at least three. He swallowed, forcing his mind away from the painful memories and into the present.

'Harry and I get the mezzanine bedroom,' Hermione said the minute Anna closed the door behind her.

'That's just not fair,' Daphne huffed. 'You didn't even give us a chance to stake our own claims.'

Hermione laughed. 'Well, now that you've had a chance…Harry and I get the mezzanine.'

Neville and Daphne glared at her. 'Fine,' Neville conceded, sensing defeat. 'You can have your stupid mezzanine. But if you get too loud, we're switching.'

Harry gave the two of them a final half-serious glare, and they parted, retreating into their own rooms. Harry put down his bag and weapons next to the bed and sat down on top. He felt his joints pop and soreness come flooding into his muscles that he knew a simple night's sleep would not cure. Hermione sat down between his legs, in front of him, and Harry wrapped his arms around her waist.

'Not quite how I imagined us spending our honeymoon,' she quipped.

Harry chuckled darkly. 'Did you even imagine us _having_ a honeymoon?'

'Do you count us backpacking through London as a "honeymoon"?'

'We really aren't your typical couple, are we?' Harry said after a pause.

Hermione's face grew dark. 'No, I can't say we are.'

'Well, I mean…how many other couples have been best friends for more than half their lives?' Harry corrected quickly, trying to lighten the mood. 'I mean…we _are_ unusual…it's not all bad…'

'You don't need to try so hard,' Hermione whispered, leaning her head on his shoulder. Harry took a deep breath of her hair. Somehow, even its characteristic scent, lost from the years of stress and war, had begun to come back.

'I do,' Harry breathed back. 'To make up for all the missed years that we could've had…when things weren't as awful as they are now…'

'We still have our whole lives ahead of us,' Hermione said. 'Well…if we…'

She did not need to finish the sentence, for Harry knew exactly what she was going to say. 'I will survive for you, and you for me. Deal?'

Hermione burrowed herself more snugly into his chest. 'Deal.'

They cuddled in silence for what seemed like hours. There was no need for passion, no need for verbal affirmations, to express what they felt for each other. Harry knew that both of them already knew.

* * *

'You haven't spoken to me all day. Are you okay?'

Neville did not answer. He did not feel like he had a satisfactory response. And it was not like he wanted to speak to her. After all, what right did he have to do so?

'You can't just ignore me forever, Neville.'

Neville just shrugged and continued sitting immobile on his bed, staring out into space.

Daphne set down on the bed next to him and tried to touch him on the shoulder. Neville moved away instinctively. He had already gotten Luna killed…and he had almost gotten her killed, too. One of his last remaining friends…and maybe something more…had almost died. And he had been powerless to do anything about it.

'Whatever happened yesterday wasn't any fault of yours,' Daphne said, more quietly.

Neville swallowed. 'But I also didn't _prevent_ it. First Luna, then it was almost you.'

'It's a war. People die,' Daphne replied. 'I knew what I was getting myself into when I came to that house six years ago. You can't blame yourself for things that aren't your fault. Even Harry doesn't anymore.'

Neville did not feel convinced. 'I agreed to go on this adventure…'

'"Adventure"?' Daphne scoffed. 'That almost sounds like this is all something we're doing for fun.'

'I didn't mean that,' Neville mumbled. 'I mean…all this…I agreed to it…'

'So did I,' Daphne reminded him. 'And it's not like any of us had any choice in the matter. We stay in Britain, we die. We leave…well…maybe we can do something about the war.'

There was a pregnant pause. 'Do you ever regret what you chose?' Neville asked.

Daphne scowled at him. 'Regret? You have to have an alternative to regret. What was my alternative? Collaborate with Riddle and murder innocent people? No, thanks. Or flee the country and go into hiding somewhere in the Americas or Africa? No, thanks. Or, perhaps, die? I'd rather not.'

'Your family – '

'Are dead.'

Neville stared at her, slack jawed. 'Don't say that…they could still be…'

'No, they couldn't,' Daphne snapped. 'Whenever Riddle inevitably found out which side I was on, whatever protection they had from being pure-bloods or "Neutrals" would've vanished. They're dead. I've come to terms with it. There's no more point in denying that fact.'

'Then maybe you shouldn't have – '

'Shouldn't have what?' Her temper was flaring now. 'Shouldn't have joined you? Shouldn't have done what was right? Shouldn't have tried to stop Riddle from taking over? Or maybe, shouldn't have stood up against him in the first place and joined him like so many of my dear House-mates and condemned myself and my entire family to a lifetime of darkness, servitude, and evil?'

Neville was taken aback by her tirade. In all his years of knowing Daphne, he could not remember one instance when she had been so caustic and cutting.

She seemed to have realised it, too, and her face took on an apologetic look. 'I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that,' she muttered. 'But…no…I don't regret what I'd done. Not now, not ever.'

'It must have been so hard,' Neville murmured. 'Leaving behind everything.'

Daphne scooted closer and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Neville did not resist – not that he had wanted to. 'I knew I had to do it,' she whispered. 'It was an easy choice to make once I understood…all of it. As for the price…well, as I said, I knew.'

'Do you miss them?' Neville asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

'Of course I do,' Daphne replied. 'But we're all in this together now, aren't we? Harry and Hermione are my family, now. And you, Neville. You are my family.'

Neville swallowed. 'And you are mine.'

* * *

Harry was rudely jerked from sleep by a loud knocking sound on their door. He groggily opened his eyes, disentangled himself from a still half-asleep Hermione, and sleepwalked his way down towards the front door.

By instinct, he drew his wand as he approached and opened it a chink, peeking out through the slit. Outside, looking unreasonably energised, stood Anna. Harry opened the door the rest of the way.

'Good morning,' she said cheerfully. 'It is ten-to-eight. Did you know?'

Harry rubbed his eyes. 'No. Not really.'

'That is obvious,' Anna said, rolling her eyes. 'Get ready. We were supposed to meet at eight. Seeing as you have barely crawled out of bed, I'll be expecting you at eight-thirty or…well, there's not much I could really do. But please come across the street by eight-thirty.'

Harry nodded and went back up to wake Hermione. She was still sprawled out on the bed, greedily taking up the space that Harry had vacated. He shook her awake.

'What?' she mumbled, sounding annoyed.

'Anna just came to see us,' Harry replied. 'We were supposed to meet her at eight, remember?'

Hermione sat up. 'Oh.'

'Oh,' Harry chuckled. 'It's seven fifty-five.'

That woke Hermione up. 'We're late?' she gasped.

Harry shrugged. 'She asked us to come over by eight-thirty. So…we're not late. Yet.'

Hermione shot up off the bed. 'Then let's not be late. Are the others up?'

'No idea…I'll go wake them.'

Harry left Hermione to get dressed while he went downstairs and knocked on Neville and Daphne's door. He waited a few seconds, but there was no response. He knocked again. Still no response. Exasperated, he unlocked the door with his wand, and with a sigh, entered.

The two of them were still fast asleep. Harry noticed that their arms were loosely wrapped around each other as they slept. Harry felt himself raise an eyebrow, though no one was around to see it. Neither of them had ever explicitly defined what their relationship was. Perhaps it did go beyond pleasure and release…?

Harry did not want to shake them awake, for he felt that he would be intruding into their intimate bubble, so he drew his wand and let off a shrill shrieking sound. Neville sat up at once, reaching for his wand, but when he saw that it was Harry, he relaxed physically, while his face grew annoyed.

'Why did you have to do that?' he demanded.

'I didn't want to interrupt…whatever it was that you two were doing,' Harry justified defensively.

Neville's face grew red at once. 'We weren't…doing anything.'

'I don't need to know,' Harry said, holding up his hands. 'Just wake her up, will you? And tell her to get ready by eight-thirty.'

'I'm awake,' Daphne mumbled sleepily. 'And…we weren't doing anything…not this morning…'

Harry could not hold back a laugh. 'I don't need to know,' he repeated as he turned and headed out of the room.

Hermione was ready when Harry returned. Harry pulled on his usual jeans, t-shirt, and jumper, and the foursome ate a quick breakfast before heading across the street. Harry knocked on the door, and Anna answered a second later.

'Congratulations,' she said, smirking and checking her watch. 'You are five minutes early. Come in.'

The four of them followed her inside. Immediately to the left of the entrance hall was a large dining room. Ten to fifteen people sat around a large table, and along the back wall stood somewhat ancient-looking but well-maintained armchairs.

Anna cleared her throat, and the chatter stopped at once. Every one of the soldiers turned and looked towards Anna with rapt attention.

'These are the new arrivals that I told you all about,' she said in English. 'They are our allies from Britain.'

The soldiers turned their gaze towards the foursome and inspected them. Harry felt a sudden urge to hide behind Hermione, or to flatten his hair so that his scar was not so prominent.

The eyes of the man sitting closest to Anna widened as he looked over Harry. The soldier raised an eyebrow at her. ' _Du hast mir nicht gesagt, dass wir Harry Potter treffen._ '

Anna cocked her head slightly. 'Perhaps we should not talk about our guests in a language they do not understand, Hans? Most of us here have been through the non-magical school system and _can_ comprehend English reasonably well.'

Hans looked a little sheepish. 'Sorry. It is just that I was surprised to meet Harry Potter.'

'Understandable,' Anna said with a small grin. 'They will be joining us for…some time. _Der Generalleutnant_ has given permission himself for this.'

Another soldier raised his eyebrows. ' _Der Generalleutnant_ … _was?_ '

'Schumacher gave permission for them to join us, Erich,' Anna repeated.

Erich gawked at Anna. 'Schumacher… _verdammter Scheiß_ …you are talking about the same man who refused again and again to let the refugees join up en masse?'

'Maybe something about being "Harry Potter" must have made him bend his own rules a little.'

Harry studied his shoes intently. He ought not to have been unsurprised at the direction that the conversation had turned, but he was beginning to feel his cheeks burn regardless.

'I think you might be embarrassing him too much, Anna,' the first soldier – Hans – cackled. 'We should give them all a proper welcome, don't you think, Anna? So what will it be? _Bier? Schnaps? Jägermeister?_ '

'Hans,' Anna snapped. 'It is only eight in the morning. We have big assignments today. You _cannot_ be drunk.'

'I would usually say that Anna is just spoiling the fun, but she actually has a point this morning,' Erich conceded. ' _Hans, kein Bier mehr bis heute Abend._ ' Hans sighed and fell silent.

Anna looked around, and satisfied that her subordinates were paying attention, began to speak. 'We have two tasks today. First, Schumacher has finally seen some sense and decided that we should reinforce the stationary defensive enchantments around the city. We will need around ten people to get this done as soon as possible. By tonight, if we can.'

She took a deep breath. 'Second, we have been tasked with sabotaging a convoy bound for the Russian front.'

The soldiers – Harry assumed that they were witches and wizards – fell silent, with gaunt looks on their faces.

'Sabotaging a convoy?' Hans breathed.

'Yes, Hans. As drunk as you may be, you heard correctly,' Anna snapped. 'Apparently, Voldemort is sending some massive shipment of weapons east. They are using a train line to the north. We blow it up, incinerate whatever is left, and get out before the reinforcements come.'

'Will _we_ have backup?'

'Considering this is supposed to be a stealth mission, no.'

If it were at all possible, the faces of everyone in the room paled even more.

'Julia,' Anna barked. A witch with shoulder-length brown hair stood up shakily. 'You will lead the team to survey the protective enchantments. Erich, Klaus, Sascha, you are coming with me.' She turned to Harry and the others. 'And you…'

'I want to go with you,' Hermione said at once with a look of determination on her face.

'If she goes, then I go,' Harry supplied. He was not going to try to talk her down when her mind was made. Besides, he wanted to go himself, and doubted that Hermione would let him go alone, anyway.

Anna furrowed her brow. 'This could be dangerous…'

Hermione snorted. 'We've been through enough danger. We can handle a little more. Please, Anna. We didn't come here to sit around. We want to fight.'

Anna looked pensive, like she was about to rebut, but then relented with a sigh. 'Well…I don't think it would be worth my time to stop you…' She turned to Neville and Daphne. 'You two will go with Julia.'

'We want to go, too,' Neville protested sharply. 'Why can't we?'

'We cannot move eight people through a forest discreetly, visible or not,' Anna replied calmly. 'Six is already a little much, but we may need the extra manpower.'

Neville and Daphne both opened their mouths in protest, but Anna held up her hand. 'You will be helping defend thousands of people by strengthening the defensive enchantments,' she said. 'War is not all about shooting guns and cursing your enemies. And you two are pure-bloods. Most of us, except for two, are of non-magical birth or half-bloods. You might know valuable information that they do not.'

The two of them looked disgruntled, but did not say another word. A little reluctantly, they shuffled towards Julia, who was beginning to gather her own group in one corner of the room.

'May I inspect your weapons?' Anna asked. 'Your rifles.'

Harry and Hermione handed over their assault rifles without question. Anna gave them a once-over. 'They are okay,' she concluded, handing them back. 'FAL's shoot a powerful cartridge. But they are not compatible with our weapons. It is too late to worry about this now, though.'

The rest of the team gathered, and Anna led them all upstairs into a study. On the table was a large, expansive map of what appeared to be the local area. Anna marched up to it, and Harry, Hermione, and the other three wizards gathered around her.

'This is Trier,' she said, jabbing a finger at the lower-right corner of the map. 'The rail line is here.' She traced her finger slowly upwards. Harry saw it pass Bitburg, then Prüm, and then kept tracing north before finally stopping.

'They are sending it on this rail line through Koblenz,' she continued. 'The train is to cross the Belgian border at thirteen-fifty. It will take perhaps another hour or so to reach this spot.' She jabbed her finger at a red 'X' on the map. 'We will set explosives and blow up the tracks. That will stop the train. Then, we will use magical fire and burn everything to dust. Clear?'

Everyone nodded grimly.

'We can apparate north to here.' She pointed at another spot and pulled out what looked like a satellite image. 'Daun. Picture this spot in your head,' she said, pointing to the picture. 'This is only about two kilometres from the railway line. We walk the rest of the way under Disillusionment and set up positions for an ambush. We destroy the train as planned, then we apparate immediately back to Trier. We do not stay and fight the reinforcements. If they are foolish enough to attack Trier in retaliation, then they will pay for their mistakes with pain and blood.'

' _Jawohl, Brigadegeneral von Hartmann_ ,' one of the wizards that was not Erich barked. The use of Anna's formal title and surname was not lost on Harry as an indicator of the seriousness of the situation.

Anna looked up. 'Are we ready?'

'Yes,' Erich and the two other wizards chorused.

'Harry? Hermione?'

'Yes,' both replied.

Anna turned around and grabbed two vests off a hanger on the back wall. 'Bulletproof vests. Wear them. We do not know what we will be facing. It is better to be prepared.'

Harry and Hermione dutifully pulled the vests over their heads. They shouldered their weapons and pocketed their wands and followed Anna down the stairs.

'Good luck, you all,' Anna called, obviously trying to sound optimistic. 'We will see each other later.'

'Yes, good luck to you, too,' Julia replied. 'Hans will have _das Bier_ ready tonight.'

Anna stepped outside with the other soldiers, giving Harry and Hermione a private moment to say farewell to Neville and Daphne. None of them had any words for each other, and simply exchanged embraces and meaningful looks before parting.

'Time to go,' Anna said grimly as Harry and Hermione stepped outside. 'Erich, Klaus, Sascha, apparate on your own. Harry, Hermione, I will side-along you, since I do not know how the protective enchantments will respond to you crossing back out by apparition.'

The wizards disapparated with three loud cracks. Harry and Hermione each took one of Anna's outstretched hands, and she turned on the spot, departing the relative safety of Trier towards dangerous waters unknown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy New Year to you all. Thank you to maschl for all his help with almost every aspect of this story as well as with the German translations. Thank you to W H Rutledge for his beta work. Regarding translations, I will organise them into exchanges if possible from now on, so they will make more sense holistically.
> 
> Translations – all from German:
> 
> Anna's exchange with the secretary:
> 
> 'Brigadier General von Hartmann? You are back? What do you want?'
> 
> 'What do you think?' Anna replied, sounding impatient. 'I need to speak to the Lieutenant General.'
> 
> 'Do you have an appointment?' the secretary asked, sounding bored.
> 
> Anna glared at the woman. 'You know I don't have an appointment. Could you please stop wasting my time? This is really important.'
> 
> Anna and the general:
> 
> The general's eyes shifted to Harry, then to Hermione, then to Neville and Daphne. 'And who are your companions?'
> 
> 'This is Harry Potter,' Anna said, gesturing towards Harry. 'And she is Hermione Granger. And the other two are Neville Longbottom and Daphne Greengrass.'
> 
> The general's eyes widened. 'English?'
> 
> 'Yes.'
> 
> …
> 
> 'They were forced to flee from Britain,' she said. 'They were pursued and attacked by Voldemort.'
> 
> …
> 
> Finally, the general turned to Anna. 'Do you need more personnel?'
> 
> 'Always.'
> 
> Misc:
> 
> Du hast mir nicht gesagt, dass wir Harry Potter treffen = You did not tell us that we were meeting Harry Potter.
> 
> Hans, kein Bier mehr bis heute Abend. = Hans, no more beer until tonight.


	14. XIII: Saboteurs

War was boring, Neville decided.

All morning, he had been standing around, watching the resistance's soldiers modify the defensive wards. He could not even do anything to help. The Runes they were using on the anchor stones were different from the ones he knew, and it was not like the resistance soldiers _would_ let him help, anyway. He had been told repeatedly that the anchor stones would not recognise him, and therefore might cause unintended, potentially dangerous, side effects.

But did he really want excitement? He wondered what Harry and Hermione were doing, and though a part of him wanted to be there with them, another part of him was quite glad to not be blowing up a train in enemy territory.

They apparated from one hilltop to another, inspecting the wards. Once or twice, Daphne pointed out something theoretical about the ward scheme, while Neville simply had no clue. Instead, he spent most of his time marvelling at the view of the city and the river offered by the hills.

'We sit in a valley,' Julia said as he looked out towards the north. 'In the north and south, we are protected by hills. Our only weak spot is to the west.'

'What do you mean?' Neville asked.

Julia pointed towards her left. 'Over there, past the junction of the two rivers, is Luxembourg. We control a portion of the east of the country, but much of it is occupied. The Mosel valley opens into easily attackable plains there.'

'How do you defend it, then?'

'Fortifications,' Julia answered. 'Do you know what the Maginot Line was?'

Neville shook his head.

'I forget that you are a pure-blood wizard,' Julia chortled. 'The Maginot Line was a series of fortifications built by the French in the 1930's. It was supposed to be impenetrable from a frontal assault. We managed to engineer a similar system, with the help of magic, of course. You can see the pillboxes in the distance.'

Neville craned his neck, looking out. In the fields to the direction where Julia was pointing was a network of grey concrete structures, along with watchtowers, trenches, and defences that Neville could not name.

'The valley actually works to our advantage,' Julia said. 'The hills are hard to send mechanised units over – tanks, trucks, and the like. It will force them to funnel any large attack directly into the fortifications, where, hopefully, they will be destroyed.'

'What about wizard armies?' Neville asked, remembering how easily they had managed to destroy the border fortifications with the help of magic. 'Couldn't they smash through these fortifications?'

Julia shrugged. 'They could. That is what the wards we are improving are for, is it not?'

Neville stood in silence for a few minutes, admiring the defensive fortifications. They were indeed impressive. He would certainly loathe to be caught in their path as an attacker. Suddenly, though, a concern came into his mind.

'What about the east?'

'What about it?'

'How is the east defended?'

'There are fortifications, too,' Julia replied, a little casually. 'But I do not think Voldemort would be crazy enough to attempt a massive attack from the east. The only way he could even approach the city is through long, narrow valleys that we hold. They would be spotted long before they even reach the primary defences.'

Neville inexplicably felt some bit of concern at that. It seemed to him that the east was not well-defended at all, and the resistance was simply relying on an imperfect geographical protection. He did not voice his concerns, however. If the resistance had held out for so long, then he supposed that the geographical protection must have been adequate.

Neville and Julia turned around and walked slowly back to the group. Three wizards were still bent over the anchor stone, their chisels and styluses out, making changes and corrections. Five of the others were walking around in their vicinity, their wands out, checking the strength of the wards. Daphne was standing over the three wizards working on the ward stones, and Hans was standing next to her.

'Hans!' Julia shouted. 'Are you not supposed to be inspecting the enchantments? Get back to work!'

Hans turned around and looked at Julia with an embarrassed look on his face. 'Sorry, _Hauptmann_ Julia,' he said, emphasising Julia's rank sarcastically. Julia simply rolled her eyes as Hans sped off.

'What was he doing?' Neville asked Daphne when he reached her.

She raised her eyebrows. 'Why are you so concerned?'

'Well…I…'

Why was he so concerned? Neville did not understand his own feelings.

'I just didn't want him to be doing anything…bad,' Neville answered.

'He wasn't,' Daphne assured him. 'He was just trying to flirt with me.'

A feeling of dislike towards Hans suddenly rose within Neville, along with another feeling that he did not recognise. 'He _what?_ '

'He tried to flirt with me,' Daphne repeated. 'I didn't flirt back, in case you were curious.'

'Oh.' The unexplainable feeling of animosity towards Hans remained, but somehow, the other feeling disappeared. 'Well, okay…what did you tell him?'

'Curious, are we?'

Neville shrugged. 'Just asking. Well?'

'Nothing much. Just that…well…' Daphne blushed a little. 'I…uh…I wasn't interested in…him…'

'Well…he is a little obsessed with beer, isn't he?' Neville said, a little savagely but somehow unapologetically. 'And he's got a weird moustache…'

'Yeah…well…that…both…sure…'

The group finished up at that site ten-or-so minutes later. Julia directed them all towards the next hilltop. Daphne grabbed Neville's hand and they apparated to the next site together. Neville subconsciously held on to her hand for a little longer than he usually would. If she noticed, she said nothing of it.

Hans tried to approach Daphne several more times, but he always beat a hasty retreat when he saw Neville. He was not sure why, but he stuck close to her through the rest of the day, a little more than he usually would.

He was probably just being protective. Daphne was like a sister to him, he rationalised. And he did not like seeing slightly older men – somewhat drunk soldiers, at that – shamelessly flirt with her. That must be all. It was a rational thing for him to do, after all.

But at some level, Neville knew that was obviously not true, that there was something else at play. Who, after all, slept with someone they considered a sister?

And Neville had to ask himself a question that he could not answer: Was he just as oblivious to it all as Harry had been for the longest time?

* * *

When Harry reappeared, he found himself in a patch of woods on the steep bank of a circular lake. The three wizards that had apparated ahead were standing a short distance away.

Anna reached into her breast pocket and pulled out a map. She cast a Four-Point Spell with her wand. 'We are where we needed to be. We need to go northeast. This way. It will be about a three-kilometre walk. Let's go.'

Anna cast Disillusionment Charms over all of them. Harry noted with pleasant surprise that she had used the version that allowed them to still see one another. She pocketed her map and marched off, the three wizards in close pursuit. Harry and Hermione had to jog a little to keep up with their quick initial pace.

'Be careful, we are technically in enemy territory,' Anna said. 'But I do not think we have to worry too much here. The population in the borderlands between the areas that Voldemort controls and the areas that we control are generally more sympathetic to us.'

Anna continued along on her brisk pace, weaving the group through woods along semi-defined dirt tracks. Once or twice, they crossed a short stretch of open field, and Harry could see the coloured roofs of the houses that dotted the villages in the distance.

'We will have to cross this road,' Anna said about an hour later, consulting her map. 'There is a small creek beyond, and after we cross that, we should be near the railway line.'

They did not clear fifty metres on either side of the road before they crossed, like they had to do in France. Instead, Anna simply looked both ways and dashed across. The three wizards followed her. Harry exchanged a look with Hermione, then they crossed together in pursuit.

They hiked through a gully between two hills before Anna stopped just before a strip clear-cut from the forest. Through the trees, Harry could see a single railroad track sitting in the middle of the narrow strip.

'This is it,' Anna declared. She and the three soldiers put down their rucksacks and started pulling things that Harry did not recognise out of them. Harry thought that their bags ought to have been enchanted with some sort of undetectable extension charm, for they were removing far more things than could possibly fit in a non-magical bag of that size.

'Erich, scout out the area _,_ ' Anna barked what were obviously orders. 'Klaus, help me with the explosives. Sascha, stand guard. Harry, Hermione, stay here for now _._ '

Erich and Sascha both marched off while Klaus and Anna worked together, moulding blocks of an orange putty that Harry presumed to be explosives and sticking red wires into them. Harry wanted to help, but he supposed that it was better for those who knew what they were doing to handle explosives.

Erich came back several minutes later. 'There is a road overpass about two hundred metres to the east,' he reported. 'If we plant the charges under there, we can disrupt two avenues of transportation at once.'

Anna looked between the assembled charges and back at Erich, a sceptical look on her face. 'Do you think these charges are enough to bring down the road bridge, too?'

Erich shrugged. 'What would be the harm in trying? If we derail the train, that might destroy the overpass's supports.'

Anna looked between the explosives and Erich again and nodded. 'We will try it, then. Harry, Hermione, help me levitate these over.'

Harry and Hermione drew their wands and levitated four of the explosive charges into the. Anna and Erich took care of the other four, and they carefully 'carried' them through the woods to the point where Erich had indicated, just underneath the bridge.

'Set down the explosives and help me get the crushed stone out of the way,' Anna said. Harry and Hermione laid down the assembled charges down near the edge of the clear-cut path through the forest and began moving the gravel out of the way with a combination of magic and their hands. When they had made enough room for the explosives, Anna and Erich stuffed them underneath the steel rails. They repeated this process for all eight charges.

Anna ran the detonator cables underneath the sleepers and buried them under a layer of gravel to render them invisible to the train operator, before retreating into the forest and taking out what looked like a detonator from her bag and connecting the wire ends to it.

She checked her watch. 'It is thirteen-fifteen. The train should cross the border in thirty-five minutes. Have your weapons ready. They may have soldiers or secret police clearing the way ahead.

'Do we kill them?' Hermione asked.

Anna shook her head. 'Do not. If they do not report in that the tracks in front are clear of enemies, the train will not continue past here, and we will miss an opportunity. We will have to sit here under Disillusionments. If they discover the explosive charges, use the Imperius Curse on them, but do not go any further.'

They waited patiently under the shade of the trees, just out of view of the narrow clear-cut strip. The shade shielded them from the mid-summer sun, and it almost felt peaceful. Hermione was leaning her head on Harry's shoulder, her eyes closed and looking oddly content. Harry tickled her occasionally to prevent her from falling asleep, to which she giggled musically.

'Thirteen-fifty,' Anna reported. 'The train should be crossing the border right about now. One more hour.'

The five of them continued waiting. Occasionally, Sascha would come back with a report of 'all-clear' in the surrounding area. Anna took out a small book to read, though her heart was not in it. Harry never even saw her turn a page. It seemed that she had only wanted something to stare at.

'Fourteen-thirty,' Anna said after an eternity. 'We need to get into better positions. The forward vanguard will be arriving anytime now.'

They stepped back about ten metres away from the edge of the forest, still within view of the rigged section of track and within range of aiming an accurate Imperius Curse should any of the advance guard catch sight of the trap. Anna renewed the Disillusionment Charms on them, and they took cover behind trees or boulders, on guard.

Less than five minutes had passed when two men, dressed in black uniforms of the muggle secret police, as well as two brown robed wizards that Harry assumed were from the SA, began walking up on either side of the railroad tracks. The muggle secret police were speaking into their radios in incomprehensible German, while the SA were as much guarding the muggle secret police as they were on the lookout for threats.

'Wands at the ready,' Anna ordered in a whisper. 'Imperius Curses if they see something is out of the ordinary. Do not hesitate.'

Harry watched with bated breath as the four men inspected the tracks and the woods in the immediate vicinity. His wand tip tracked the two SA thugs bringing up the rear, while Hermione, he saw, tracked the muggle secret police officers with hers.

The muggle secret police officers passed the point of the first explosive charge without a second glance. Then, they passed the second. They were coming up on the third now.

' _Was ist das?_ ' the secret police officer on the right suddenly shouted, pointing at the tracks.

' _Imperio!'_ Harry breathed loudly, pointing his wand at one of the SA thugs. Around him, the others were casting the same curse on the other three. Their faces grew blank at once and their postures relaxed.

' _Fehlalarm. Da war nichts_ ,' the officer that had screamed said more calmly into the radio. ' _Ja. Die Gleise sind sicher._ '

'Order them into the forest,' Anna directed. 'Kill them when we blow up the train.'

The men walked haphazardly into the forest as the Imperius Curse demanded, continuing to jabber away false intelligence into their radios. Anna forced the officer under her control to sit down next to a tree, and Harry ordered the SA wizard to sit down next to him. The two others took their seats next to them. Anna ordered Sascha, who had returned from his watch duty, to guard the prisoners.

There was the shrill blast of a train whistle off to Harry's left. Gradually, he began to hear the sounds of the train engine, and the train's wheels rolling across the steel tracks. The prisoners continued feeding false information to the person on the other end.

The noise of the engine grew louder. Suddenly, through the trees, two locomotives appeared, pulling what appeared to Harry as cattle cars behind them. The train was moving slowly, perhaps just slightly faster than a person's running speed. It neared the rigged portion of the track…it was over it…

'Sascha, shoot them,' Anna ordered. Sascha shouldered his assault rifle and opened fire soundlessly, killing all four prisoners with a single burst of fire. At the same time, Anna jammed her thumb down on the red detonator button.

There was a massive explosion, but before Harry could process what had happened, there was another, even more ear-splitting blast. Where the second locomotive had been, there was now a massive fireball. The first locomotive, meanwhile, had been blown forward, off the tracks. The lump of twisted and burning metal slammed into the road bridge's supports, destroying two of them. Harry watched as the bridge deck swayed. There was a loud crack as the bridge fell, shaking the earth as giant slabs of concrete slammed into the ground and shattered in a cloud of dust.

The rest of the train continued forward on its own momentum. The first cattle car crashed into the wreckage of the second locomotive and triggered another explosion that blasted the car's wooden side into thousands of pieces of flying shrapnel. Harry instinctively ducked, even though he knew that he was in no danger. As he looked back up, the second carriage hit the first and derailed. There was a sickening crunch as it slid off the tracks and twisted sideways. Moments later, the third carriage was pulled off the rails before twisting the opposite way. Its side slammed into the side of the second carriage with a sickening crunch. The scene was repeated with the fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, and eight carriages, each twisting in the opposite direction of the one before it.

There was a pregnant pause, broken only by the ominous cracking and popping sounds coming from the flaming wreckage.

'Do we investigate?' Hermione asked timidly.

'Wait,' Anna said. 'We need to wait to see if any survivors come out.'

They waited in tense silence, never once lowering their wands. But there were no survivors staggering out of the wreckage. Slowly, Anna began to inch forward. Harry and Hermione, along with the rest of the squad, followed her.

' _Avada Kedavra!_ ' came a gruff shout. A jet of green light soared from somewhere behind the wreckage of one of the cattle cars and flew wide.

' _Der Raketenwerfer!_ ' Anna shouted as Harry and Hermione raised their wands. Their Blasting Curses were joined by a rocket-propelled grenade fired from somewhere behind them. The triple barrage hit the cattle car. There was a shout of pain, then half of a body flying through the air.

All was quiet, and then Harry heard the most terrifying, otherworldly shriek. He looked at Hermione, who had gone white-faced upon hearing the sound. The look on her face told him that she did not recognise it as anything of magical or non-magical origin, either.

A hand reached out of one of the cattle cars. Then another. A whole body raised itself out of the destroyed car. Harry felt a surge of revulsion when he saw that the…thing…had a stump for a left arm. In its right arm, it wielded a crude stone club.

' _Confringo!_ ' Harry instinctively shouted. His Blasting Curse hit the creature in the chest and blew a large hole through it. It fell off the cattle car and onto the gravel ballast, moving no more.

But there were more bodies raising themselves out of the destroyed cattle cars now. Bodies, however, did not seem like the right word to define them. They were not like the Inferi that they had battled against time and time before. Instead, they seemed to be held in limbo, somewhere between life and death. Their faces bore a terrifyingly vacant expression. They almost looked like victims of the Dementor's Kiss.

Another rocket soared over Harry's head. The warhead hit right in the middle of three of the creatures, blowing them all apart. But more of them were clawing their way out of the carriages now, climbing over each other in an effort to get at them. They walked stiffly and jerkily, sometimes stumbling, but always getting up again without seeming to have noticed that they had fallen at all.

Harry fired another Blasting Curse into their midst, and Hermione joined in. Anna and the other soldiers opted to open fire with their assault rifles, ripping bloody holes into the creatures' torsos.

But they did not seem to go down from the bullet wounds, even if they would have brought down any regular human. Only Harry and Hermione's Blasting Curses and the rockets were doing any good.

'Stop shooting!' Hermione shouted. 'Use curses!'

Anna and the others listened to her without question, shouldering the rifles and replacing them for wands. A wall of Blasting Curses flew at the advancing line, knocking a few down, but they kept coming, their losses replenished by fresh reinforcements coming from the broken cattle cars. They were forced to give ground as the wave continued growing, trampling over each other mindlessly as they sought to reach them.

' _Incendio Maxima!_ ' Harry yelled, recalling that Inferi were most susceptible to heat and fire and hoping that these creatures had the same weakness. A tongue of flame lashed out from his wand and slammed into the front. The creatures' hair and skin was set on fire and burned, releasing an acrid smell, but they did not go down. The fire and smoke cleared, and nothing changed except that the creatures' hair was singed off and their skin was charred to a horrifying pattern of red and black.

' _Sectumsempra!_ ' Hermione tried in desperation. Bloody slits opened in the creatures' fronts, but once again, she accomplished nothing except open a deep, bloody gash on the chests of some of those in the front rank. The creatures seemed all but immune to pain.

'Do we get out of here?' Harry shouted.

'No!' Anna yelled back. 'What if we leave them be and they attack the nearby villagers? We cannot just flee and leave them to their own devices!'

They fired more Blasting Curses in the creatures' direction, but as many as they managed to kill, more seemingly appeared, almost out of thin air, to replace the casualties. Harry attempted Killing Curses, but they seemed to have no effect besides leaving a small singe mark on the creatures' rags.

'They need to be destroyed completely!' Hermione shouted. 'They must not have souls, or the Killing Curse wouldn't have failed!'

Harry did not have time to process her second statement, but her first statement gave him an idea.

'Do you trust me? Hermione? Anna?'

'Yes!' Hermione yelled.

'What is it?' Anna demanded.

'Fiendfyre!' Harry answered. 'Erich, Klaus, Sascha, apparate – _Confringo!_ – apparate back to base! Hermione, you and Anna, too! _Confringo!_ Can I apparate back on my own?'

'You should be able to,' Anna replied. 'The enchantments will recognise you. _Confringo!_ But Fiendfyre. It will burn the entire forest!'

'Well, what's the alternative?'

Anna swallowed, obviously finding none. 'I trust you. Erich, Klaus, Sascha! Go! Hermione, you, too!'

'But Harry – '

'I'll be fine, Hermione!' Harry yelled. 'I'll apparate myself back. Don't worry!'

Three cracks indicated the wizards' departure. Harry gave Hermione a hard look and she relented.

'I will take Hermione by side-along so we are not separated,' Anna said. 'Apparate back to right in front of the house we left from this morning, understood?'

Harry nodded. Anna grabbed Hermione's hand and turned to disapparate. The moment they were gone, Harry levelled the Elder Wand at the wave of still-oncoming creatures.

' _Fiendfyre!_ '

Out of the tip of the Elder Wand came five creatures, made completely of flame. They rose into the air, reared, and then dove down towards the horde. Without lingering to see the result, he turned on the spot, engraving the image of the house into his head. As he disapparated, he saw the front line of the creatures fall under the flames.

* * *

Hermione reappeared right in front of the house, nearly on the very same spot that she had left from earlier that morning. The moment she landed, worry forced its way, unbidden, into her heart. Was Harry okay? What if he was hurt by the Fiendfyre? Or worse, what if the creatures had managed to overrun him before he had been able to get away?

Anna placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, seemingly understanding her fretfulness.

'It has not even been five seconds,' she said quietly. 'He will be okay.'

It felt to Hermione like an hour had passed already. The three wizards who had returned with them were moving in slow-motion, taking strides like some horrifying comedy show.

And then there was a crack. Hermione's head jerked towards the source of the sound. There was a blur of colours, and there, out of thin air, Harry appeared. Instantly, Hermione's world went back to normal speed. The hour might not have passed at all. She sprinted at him, flying through the air, and threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

'Harry!' she shrieked. 'You're okay!'

She felt Harry nod weakly. 'As are you,' he mumbled.

Hermione released her embrace, grabbed the somewhat disoriented man's cheeks, and slammed a searing kiss to his lips. Harry stiffened a little in surprise, but returned the kiss with enthusiasm.

'You're okay,' Harry repeated, scanning her from head to toe. 'You're not hurt.'

Hermione shook her head. 'I'm okay. What about you? What happened?'

Harry shrugged. 'Nothing happened, really,' he said softly. 'I cast the curse and fled.'

'Did it work?'

'I think so,' Harry replied. He looked up. 'What were those things?' he asked Anna.

Hermione turned around in Harry's embrace. Anna looked pensive as she considered the question, but her face was pale in fright and twisted in confusion.

'I don't know,' she replied sadly. 'They reminded me of…Inferius.'

'That's what I thought, too,' Hermione supplied. 'But they don't look _dead_. Not physically, at least. They look like…their souls had been extracted.'

Anna looked alarmed. 'Souls extracted? Like…'

'Like the Dementor's Kiss,' Hermione completed. 'The Dementor victims we encountered in Britain all had a similar look on their faces. It's possible…though I don't know how…or why – '

'I think we need to take this conversation inside,' Anna said authoritatively. 'May we use your house?'

Hermione nodded and extracted herself from Harry's arms. She crossed the street and unlocked the front door. She stepped in, followed by Harry and Anna. Neville and Daphne were evidently not back, yet, for the house was deserted.

'You were saying, Hermione?' Anna asked when they were all seated.

Hermione took a deep breath. 'People who were Kissed by Dementors shouldn't be able to move on their own devices. Or do much more than eat, drink, sleep, and excrete. Those…things…almost looked like they could act on their own. I don't know how…it must've been some kind of obscure Dark Magic…'

'Do you have any ideas?'

Hermione exchanged a look with Harry. He shook his head defeatedly. 'No idea.'

Anna leaned back and sighed. 'I do not know, either. However they were created…what would Voldemort do with those…things?' she muttered, more to herself than to anyone else. 'What could they offer that normal non-magical soldiers cannot?'

Hermione replayed the battle in her head. Two scenes in particular stood out to her. First was the failure of the rifle-wielding soldiers to kill any of the creatures. Second was Harry's _Incendio Maxima_ having nearly no effect.

Suddenly, she sat bolt upright in realisation. 'Pain,' she gasped. 'They can withstand any amount of pain and keep going. They're not super-weapons. Well…they are…but in a different way.'

'Explain.'

'If there's ever an invasion of Russia, Voldemort would be expecting to face the full force of the Russian Army, won't he?' Anna nodded. 'He thinks that he could send these "soldiers" in front, absorb bullets but keep marching, so that the real soldiers behind can take positions without losses.'

'But that is not how non-magical wars are fought,' Anna objected immediately. 'This is not the First World War. Non-magical armies do not sit in static trenches with machine guns, waiting for human-wave attacks. Long-range artillery exists, rockets exist, airplanes and tanks exist. Those…"soldiers", if you can call them that…did not seem immune to our rocket launchers at all.'

'Do you think Voldemort is even aware of that?' Harry posited.

Anna shook her head. 'I do not think so. But…his ignorance is our advantage. And the Russians', I suppose.' Suddenly, her eyes widened. 'I understand now…this was what happened…'

'What do you mean? What happened?' Hermione pressed, hoping that she was not overstepping.

'Saarlouis,' Anna answered. 'The city was burned to the ground. We found charred bodies wearing old French helmets as part of the 'attack force'. I will bet you anything that Voldemort used the city as some sort of "trial" of those "creatures".'

'And this almost happened here, too,' she continued, thoughts flying off her tongue. 'Voldemort attempted to raid Trier, but our lookouts spotted the ground unit north of the city, staging themselves on one of the hills. We destroyed them all with rocket artillery. If he had indeed used these "soldiers" for that purpose…'

'Then they are next to useless on a modern non-magical battlefield,' Hermione concluded. 'But Voldemort would not understand that. He would probably assume that anything hard to kill with magic, is hard to kill, period.'

'So, in short, Voldemort is likely removing the souls of innocent people to create a useless weapon that he will use in a suicidal capacity,' Anna spat.

Hermione felt cold sweat run down her back. Of course Voldemort would do such a thing. Brutality and murder first, rational thought later – if at all. She shuddered. What if Voldemort was murdering the inmates of the camps en masse to create these creatures? Or worse, was he even further extending the wanton murder of hapless muggles in the areas under his occupation – if that were even possible?

'The camps,' Hermione said. 'He's murdering the prisoners. Do you know where they are?'

A look of distaste came over Anna's face. ' _Die Konzentrationslager_? No. We do not know exactly. We suspect there is one in north-eastern France, or perhaps in southern Belgium, from monitoring rail traffic. But we do not know for sure. If we did, we would have raided them a long time ago.'

'What can we do, then?' Hermione demanded. 'We can't just let them keep murdering people!'

'Voldemort will murder either way, Hermione,' Anna said dejectedly. 'I can…bring this up with Schumacher. Perhaps he will authorise some more…ambitious…surveillance flights, so we can pinpoint where exactly Voldemort is sending these people. But do not hold your breath, Hermione, Harry. We do not even know – '

'Southern Belgium,' Harry interrupted. 'We encountered a squad of the French secret police executing prisoners on our way here. One of the men who survived spoke to us in German, I think. But we did not understand what he was saying. I will bet you anything that there is a camp near there.'

Anna leaned forward. 'Where, exactly?'

Hermione trawled through her memory. 'I don't know for sure,' she answered tentatively. 'I think it was about a day after we crossed the French border near…I think the town was called "Hirson". Maybe around fifty or so kilometres northeast of the border…that's all we know.'

Anna stood up. 'Excuse me. I need to pass this information to Schumacher, as soon as possible,' she said, sounding a little curt. 'Thank you, Harry, Hermione. I will see you soon.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to maschl for all his help with almost every aspect of this story. Thank you to W H Rutledge for his beta work.
> 
> Translations – all from German:
> 
> Fehlalarm. Da war nichts. Ja. Die Gleise sind sicher. = False alarm. It was nothing. Yes. The tracks are safe.


	15. XIV: Intervention

Hugo Allard walked slowly through the woods, his wand gripped tightly in his hand. Behind him, Madeleine was covering their rear with her own wand. Hugo was utterly unfamiliar with the enemy's movements in this part of the country – he did not know if the route he was taking was even a safe corridor. But he had made it this far, journeying cautiously through uncharted and unknown territories. He could make it the rest of the way.

He was perhaps less than ten kilometres from where he had grown up. The city of Verdun was immediately to their south. It was almost like going home. The far-away feeling of domestic bliss contrasted heavily with the stifling atmosphere of reality and war.

The forest was dotted with shell craters formed long-ago that nature had never quite managed to reclaim. Hugo thought that it was a rather poignant reminder of the new war that was raging around him.

They continued onwards through the forest in silence. Madeleine was not really the talking kind of woman. The most she had spoken had been that day back at the barn, during their skirmish against the _police politique_. The journey east had been surprisingly peaceful, partly out of Hugo's overwhelming caution. That, however, had come at the cost of only being able to move about thirty-or-so kilometres per night.

By Hugo's calculations, they were only a hundred kilometres away from the German border. After that, however, would come the long return. It almost felt like something straight out of _The Lord of the Rings_ , except instead of seeking to destroy the enemy once and for all, Hugo was simply going from one hopeless place to, perhaps, a slightly less hopeless one, and then back.

Would he return, though? He should have answered 'yes'. He had a duty to his country and his people, after all. What would happen to the smuggling routes in his absence? What would become of Dieppe, with no one to stop the brutes from committing their atrocities?

He hated that he had answers to all these questions. The refugees would simply go through another route. He had never been able to do much to stop the brutality of the GBS and _police politique_ , either way. And as for his duty to his country…would he not be doing more for _la Patrie_ if he fought with the Germans, who were rumoured to have far more resources at their disposal? It had been what Harry Potter had done, after all.

Hugo wondered what had happened to Harry Potter and his group. He knew that they were not dead – if they were, the Voldemort-aligned press would be all over the news. But had they made it to Germany? Or perhaps, had they moved on further east?

These thoughts plagued Hugo as they continued to struggle through the dense forests. Hugo suddenly stepped on air and nearly fell into an abandoned trench, but Madeleine stopped him. He muttered a _merci_ and continued, squeezing through a new line of bushes.

He found himself in an open space, obviously cut from the forest. In the moonlight, he could see some sort of compound. It was not anything from _la Grande Guerre_. The walls were too new and modern for that. Hugo saw collapsed watchtowers, but they did not appear ancient. Their steel supports appeared grey and untarnished, not covered in a layer of rust.

'Is this what I think it is?' Madeleine breathed.

'What do you think it is?' Hugo asked, not quite understanding.

'One of the camps,' she replied. 'Obviously, it's been destroyed. But the watchtowers…the perimeter wall…the destroyed railroad tracks.'

Hugo inspected the ruins more closely. Sure enough, sitting right in front of what used to be the main gates was a small railway 'station'. It, like the main complex, was in ruins. From it ran a single, destroyed track that led into the forest beyond.

'Do we investigate?' Madeleine asked.

Hugo did not think it was prudent, for he anticipated set traps and alerts, but his curiosity got the better of him. He nodded and began inching his way towards the destroyed front gates, his wand in the air and casting detection spells for any defensive enchantments or curses. To his surprise, he found none.

He and Madeleine stepped over the threshold of the exploded wall and into the camp proper. The inside was completely deserted, with not a sight nor sound of anyone. Hugo involuntarily shivered, spooked.

There were several charred, black mounds of ash that Hugo realised must have been the remains of barracks. Off in the distance, he could see a collapsed brickwork building that he did not know the purpose of, but he did not want to investigate. All signs that humans had even been here were completely wiped away, yet it must not have been long ago that the site had been abandoned. Hugo could still detect the faintest hints of smoke in the air.

'What happened here?' Madeleine whispered. 'Why did they just up and leave?'

'I don't know,' Hugo replied, equal parts stunned and puzzled.

He looked at the camp with unspeakable disgust. Voldemort had dared to defile this sacred site of his country's history with the vulgarity that had been this concentration camp. He did not know what he felt more anger at: the mere existence of the camp itself, or the fact that he had not been the one who had destroyed it.

'I do not think there are any survivors here,' Hugo said after a long, heavy pause. He took out his map and noted down the location of the camp. He could pass this information on to the Germans, who might be able to do something with it, or piece together some sort of greater puzzle. 'We need to move on.'

Madeleine nodded. 'One moment.'

She pulled out her wand and raised it into the air, conjuring a bundle of blue cornflowers. She knelt down and placed them gently on the ground, in the middle of the destroyed front gates of the camp. Hugo removed his beret, and the two of them stood in silence. After a long moment, Madeleine drew a deep breath and began to sing in a hoarse, tired, yet defiant voice.

' _Loin vers l'infini s'étendent,_

_Des grands près marécageux,_

_Pas un seul oiseau ne chante,_

_Dans les arbres secs et creux.'_

Her voice was raspy, yet hauntingly beautiful. Hugo joined in, tears beginning to pool in his eyes. They sang in a tempo far slower than the song would normally have been heard. As they continued through the solemn lyrics, the tears began flowing openly down Hugo's cheeks.

' _Mais un jour de notre vie_

_Le printemps refleurira_

_Liberté, liberté chérie,_

_Je dirai : tu es à moi.'_

' _Oh ! Terre enfin libre,_

_Où nous pourrons revivre,_

_Aimer !'_

Despite all that had happened, Hugo still knew that there was hope yet that his countrymen would be avenged.

* * *

The _Generalleutnant_ laid out several photographs in front of Anna, taken earlier that day. They were grainy and blurred, but she could still clearly see all the trappings of a compound dedicated to murder. There was the grey outline of a perimeter wall. At its corners stood watchtowers, casting long, ominous shadows. Long rectangles denoted what must have been barracks. Other structures, Anna could not recognise, but she was sure were, too, instruments of slaughter.

'Is it still active?' she asked.

'I believe so,' Schumacher answered. He pointed at a collection of dark dots. 'Those seem to be people. Either prisoners or guards.'

'When do we attack it?' Anna demanded.

Schumacher sat back and sighed. 'There lies a problem. This camp lies over a hundred kilometres in enemy territory. Unless we attempt a full-scale offensive…I do not see how it would be possible.'

'Then can we launch a full-scale offensive?' Anna pressed.

'We may have the manpower…and perhaps the equipment,' Schumacher said carefully. 'However…to use it for this goal…I do not know if it would be…wise.'

'We're talking about perhaps thousands of people.'

'And I ask you in return. Is us, sustaining perhaps thousands of casualties – because that may be what a massive offensive will cost – a viable trade?'

'We know where it is now,' Anna argued. 'We have to do something. This is like…this is like…'

Schumacher's countenance darkened. 'I understand, _Brigadegeneral_. I, like you, detest being unable to act. But we must consider the lives of the people under our protection. Far more people than can be detained in one such camp. Suppose we lose a thousand troops now. What will happen to them?'

'Voldemort will conquer them once and for all,' Anna muttered.

Schumacher nodded grimly. 'We must be careful to even use our strength for short incursions, several kilometres into enemy territory. To throw all our forces into a full-scale operation, with the goal of penetrating more than a hundred kilometres west into unfamiliar territory…that is condemning our own subjects to death and misery. You can be certain that Voldemort will not treat them kindly if Trier falls.'

Anna sat opposite Schumacher in uncomfortable silence. She knew that Schumacher's rational arguments were right, but could she live with herself if she simply took no action? She remembered the stories that her father had told her about his own father when he was incarcerated in Mauthausen. Could she now leave these people, perhaps suffering even greater torments, to their fate?

'You want to go regardless,' Schumacher observed.

Anna gulped, saying nothing yet feeling torn. She did not want to contradict him when she knew that he was right, but a part of her was screaming to reply in the affirmative to his question.

'Is there a way?' Anna replied neutrally.

Schumacher looked at her for a long time. 'You can use magic.'

'Yes.'

'You tell me if there is a way.'

Anna thought long and hard. They could not simply apparate, Portkey, or cross the border by any magical means – even by broomstick. To do so would no doubt trigger alert enchantments. If they attempted to break down the alert enchantments, that would possibly trigger other alert enchantments. If they tried to go in a completely non-magical way, it would take days or even weeks to arrive on foot, for they could not risk using vehicles behind enemy lines. And during which time, all manner of things could have happened closer to home.

'We could bomb the camp,' Anna suggested. She pointed at what appeared to be a small rail yard. 'Destroy the railway tracks, or blow open the perimeter walls. We _can_ do that, can't we?'

Schumacher looked pensive. 'We have the capability,' he said finally. 'We received a shipment of new missiles from Belarus…'

'Then we can do it,' Anna said, a little impatiently. 'We know where it is, we have the missiles. Why can't we?'

Schumacher reached into his desk and pulled out a stack of papers, written in Russian and completely incomprehensible to Anna. He pushed it across the desk and pointed at a highlighted line.

'These missiles are the R-17 _Elbrus_ model,' he explained. ' _Tochnost_ – that means accuracy. Four-hundred-fifty metres. We could aim for the rail yard and end up hitting a barrack.'

Anna swallowed. She loathed the potential for killing innocents, but once more, could she excuse inaction? If the people of the camps were destined to die if they did not act, would it not be better for them to do _something_ , however flawed the plan was?

She steeled herself. 'I think it's worth it, _Generalleutnant_.'

Schumacher raised an eyebrow. 'You do understand what that meant?'

'I understand completely what what you said meant,' Anna replied, a little snappishly. 'We could end up killing innocent prisoners. But if those prisoners are destined to death if we do not act…then is it not better to take this risk?'

'Yes, it is,' Schumacher said, his voice barely above a whisper. Anna had never seen the man show so much emotion, seem so pained and conflicted with what he had to do. 'Yes…yes, it is.'

* * *

Harry sat on the sofa, a cup of cocoa in his hands. Hermione was snuggled next to him, reading a book from their 'mobile library'. A soft blanket was wrapped around them, and Harry felt a sort of warmth and safety that he had not in perhaps his entire recent memory.

They had been sitting in silence for what seemed like hours. There was really no need to speak. Hermione contented herself with her book, while Harry stared out of the window at the green hills beyond. Occasionally, he would hear snippets of bird song carry through the light early autumn breeze, the melody livening his soul.

It had been only a month since they had left Britain behind, and Harry felt awed by how things had changed. No more was the dark, mindless days filled with nothing except darkness and grief, punctuated by sexual intimacy that was more about escape than love. Ironically, these days, they slept together – in the biblical sense – far less than they did back 'home'. The other ways that they could show their love and affection had come to the surface now that the dark, onerous clouds had been lifted somewhat.

They were truly a strange couple, but Harry would certainly not want anything different.

Danger was still out there somewhere, and not too far away at that. Neville had told him about what he had seen from the hilltops. Voldemort's dark kingdom lay perhaps less than an hour's drive away from here. The heavy defences should have reassured him somewhat, but counterintuitively, it simply made him more on edge. If the extensive fortifications existed, then that meant that there was an actual need for them.

There was no need to ask what the 'actual need' was, but the indirect visualisation of Voldemort's threat unnerved him, somehow more than battles with the secret police forces ever did.

'Can I have a sip?' Hermione asked gently.

'Huh?'

Hermione chuckled lightly. 'A sip. Of the cocoa.'

'Oh…yeah.' Harry held the cup up to her lips and tipped it a little too far. She squeaked a little as some of the drink splashed onto her chin.

'You're so clumsy,' she chided teasingly as she wiped her face with her sleeve.

'You love me for it.'

'I do, but don't let that inflate your head too much.'

Harry smiled and leaned over to kiss her on the cheek. 'You won't ever let me.'

'I won't.'

Hermione closed her book and laid it down next to her, sliding onto Harry's lap. 'You want me over a book?' Harry asked, cocking an eyebrow.

'Be quiet,' she scolded. 'Your head is getting too large.'

'You can fix that for me…with a kiss, maybe?'

Hermione's cheeks gained just the barest trace of a rosy hue. She brushed her hair back and leaned in, kissing Harry gently. It was tender, gentle. Nothing like the desperate, open-mouthed kisses they exchanged back home. Those had screamed 'lust'. These whispered 'love'.

They broke apart after an eternity that passed in a single blissful second. Hermione's eyes were a soft almond, not the hard, cruel brown they had been for the last several years. He wanted to look into them forever. He wanted her to stay like this forever…and never allow the terrible coldness return.

Harry wanted to stay _here_ forever. Hermione was healthy here, safe here.

But he knew that she was not _happy_ here. And neither was he.

All it was was a temporary respite from the darkness, but that did not make the darkness gone. It was still out there, if what Neville had seen was any proof. As if any proof was needed.

Harry cuddled Hermione to him, enjoying the feel of her. She kept him grounded, kept his mind from wandering too far. But it still wandered.

Could they stay here and fight? The Germans' resistance was strong to a level that he had not ever seen in Britain. But despite their strength, they obviously were not capable of too much more than simply holding on to the territories they had. They could destroy trains headed for Russia, they could take in refugees, they could even blunt a direct attack from Voldemort's forces. But topple him once and for all? He did not know.

His train of thought was interrupted by the doorbell ringing. Harry swung Hermione off his lap a little reluctantly and rose to answer the door. They were joined downstairs by Neville and Daphne coming out of their bedroom. The two of them seemed awfully quiet and pensive recently, not talking to each other much. Harry wondered if they had seen something during their mission to strengthen the city's wards, but both avoided the question when asked.

'It's me!' came Anna's voice from the other side. Harry pulled open the door. She was out-of-breath, her face slightly red.

'What happened?' Hermione asked, concerned.

'Nothing bad,' Anna said breathlessly. 'I just met Schumacher. He got photos of the camp – '

'Are we going now?' Harry asked, interrupting her but not caring. He was almost morbidly excited. Finally, after all these months and years, he had a chance to do something. Something substantial. Something to help others.

Anna raised an eyebrow. 'Going where now?'

'Going to raid the camp, where else?' Harry replied, feeling a little puzzled.

Anna sighed. 'I don't think we can raid the camp. It would – '

'We can't raid the camp?' Harry interjected, a feeling of disappointment mixed with anger beginning to wash over him. 'But…we can't just leave them! We have to – '

'Do you think I like it?' Anna snapped, suddenly raising her voice. Harry was taken aback and fell silent. Not once since when they had first arrived had she been so short or lost her temper with any of them. 'I want to free them, too! But think for a moment, Harry. We're talking about a target a hundred or so kilometres away, in an area beyond our control. How are we possibly supposed to get at it?'

'Portkey? Apparition?' There had to be a way. The resistance could not possibly be giving up, not when they finally had what they had been searching for for years in hand.

'And we're going to apparate across the Belgian border?' Anna asked incredulously. 'When Voldemort expects us to do that exact thing? He or his…lackeys…will have set up defences against that!'

'Then why can't we attack across the border?'

'Harry, our resources aren't unlimited,' Anna said, her eyes narrowing. 'We have maybe around ten thousand trained soldiers. You should know that one cannot pull off an offensive like that with those numbers. And besides, what would happen when we inevitably suffer losses? We will be weakened, and would be immediately open to Voldemort's attack!'

'But – '

'It would put far more lives at stake!' Anna almost yelled. 'There are over a hundred thousand people in this city, almost two hundred thousand in the areas that we control! We cannot wager their safety to rescue perhaps a thousand or so prisoners at most!'

'So you're saying we do nothing?' Harry demanded.

'No, that's not what I had said. If you had let me finish, you would have known,' Anna said irritably, taking several deep breaths to calm down. 'We are not going to do nothing. Schumacher decided to bombard the camp with our missiles. We will try to destroy the walls and rail lines, perhaps kill some of the guards, and maybe give the prisoners a chance to escape.'

'But so what if we bust the camp open?' Harry argued. 'The prisoners are just going to find themselves in areas controlled by Voldemort again. What difference will we have made?'

'Maybe some of them can reach safety here,' Anna said, sounding, Harry thought, more wishful than confident. 'Not all of them would make it, but that would happen even if we mount a full assault.'

'We're assuming a lot of things…'

'I know,' Anna replied sadly. 'But what could we possibly do? We really don't have any other options – no, an invasion of Belgium is not an option! – and at least this way…we could maybe help someone.'

'So you'll just launch some rockets and hope for the best?' Harry shot, still refusing to back down.

Anna grimaced. 'Harry, everyone is fully aware that what we are doing is not perfect…but unless you have any better ideas…'

Harry stared her down defiantly. Surely, there was some better solution. But as hard as he tried to think of them, none came. He remembered how difficult it had been, trekking through Belgium under the cover of night. As he forced himself to calm, he realised that Anna was right. There was no conceivable way, magical or muggle, that they could mount some sort of assault on the camp. The thought of it made him feel disgustingly useless. _The Chosen One_ , they called him, yet he was powerless to save the souls that looked up to him with hope.

'I don't have any,' he muttered. Hermione, sensing his feelings, took his hand and squeezed gently, but it did not give him the warmth and anchorage that it normally did.

'What do we do now, then?' Hermione asked, attempting to move the conversation forward.

Anna chewed her lip. 'There is not really much you can do…the rocket forces are preparing the attack…I suppose that if you would like to, you should deserve to see it. You alerted us to this camp in the first place, after all.'

Harry shrugged indifferently, glancing at Hermione. She shrugged as well. Truthfully, he did not think he deserved much at all. He had let the Germans know about the camp, but he was utterly useless when it came to doing anything about it. But he may as well, he thought, if only to see what the resistance was capable of. He turned back to Anna. 'Sure, then.'

Anna nodded. 'Grab my hand, then, Harry, Hermione. Daphne, Neville, Hill 32. You should have been there before when you went to strengthen the enchantments.'

Harry almost lethargically stepped towards Anna. He grabbed her hand limply. Hermione stood on the opposite side of her and she turned to disapparate.

A second later, they reappeared atop a hill overlooking the city from the south. A gust of wind swept across the cleared top. Daphne and Neville appeared right in front of them several moments later. Harry noticed them let go of their linked hands a little reluctantly, then determinedly look anywhere besides each other. It reminded Harry almost a little like how he and Hermione were years ago, when they had vehemently denied – quite foolishly – that they had any interest in each other beyond friendship. That thought brought a little levity to the situation.

Anna ushered them forward. Five oversized vehicles were parked in a line in front of him. At their rear stood enormous missiles. People dressed in fatigues were milling around, inspecting panels and switches and barking commands to one another. Hermione grabbed Harry's hand as they walked. He felt a little more comfort at the gesture this time.

'They are waiting on Schumacher's order to fire,' Anna explained as they got closer. 'The _KZ_ has a rail yard that we are going to try to destroy. We identified the _Kommandant_ 's house and will be trying to take that out. We will also try to take down a section of the perimeter wall. Hopefully, that would allow at least some of them to escape.'

Harry nodded, a little absently. Seeing the missiles had made him feel perhaps a little better about the resistance's plan, but he was still inundated with guilt. What if the escapees did not make it? What if they were hunted down? What if the secret police of the GBS exacted retribution against the nearby townspeople?

Anna squeezed Harry's shoulder. 'I wished we could have done more, too, or done better,' she commiserated. 'I…well…my grandfather…' She sighed. 'As much as I would have liked to, I really do not know what else we could have done.'

They stood in silence for several minutes. Hermione wrapped an arm around Harry's waist as they watched. There were several loud air horn blasts, and the soldiers retreated into their vehicles, slamming the doors shut with a loud bang.

Suddenly, without warning, there was a puff of orange smoke, then a deafening sound that resembled a jet engine, but even more ear-splitting. A bluish flame shot out of the base of one of the rockets. The volume grew louder as the other missiles ignited. Then, one-by-one, the supporting arms of the launch vehicles fell back, and the missiles took to the sky.

They sped off over the river valley in a north-westerly direction, leaving wispy trails of white smoke behind them. Harry watched them as they disappeared from sight, the only, last and perhaps greatest hope of those chained and resigned to death.

* * *

Bogdan Wojcik raised his axe and brought it down on the tree trunk, making a small dent. He raised it again, brought it down, and repeated the motion an almost mind-numbing number of times. Behind and around him, three green-robed swine were walking around, hitting his fellow prisoners at random with a paddle, occasionally performing the Cruciatus Curse on them for sport.

He was with a group of prisoners brought in from Eastern Europe. There were his fellow Poles, but also Slovaks, Hungarians, Balts, and even a few Russians among his group. The Slovaks, he could communicate with somewhat haphazardly, using simple language. The Hungarians and Balts, not at all. As for the Russians, Bogdan only knew the words ' _privyet_ ' – 'hello' – and ' _sigaryety_ ' – 'cigarettes', along with some vulgar profanity.

But what they lacked in linguistic commonality, they made up for a shared burning hatred of the occupiers. Perhaps back in their homelands, they would not have been friends – or even allies – but here, in a brutal concentration camp deep within enemy land, you made allies or you died. Without Janos's knowledge of electrical work, for example, or without Vasya's slick fingers – Bogdan suspected that he had been some sort of criminal in the magical Russian underworld before he had been incarcerated here – they would have starved to death long ago.

Something odd was happening, though. In the last weeks, they had not been starving at all. Quite the opposite, in fact. The guards had been providing the prisoners with almost the same food that they themselves were rationed. He knew that it was not altruism – Voldemort, altruism? – and that something sinister was afoot. Through the underground information grapevines, he had heard that some other camps were being liquidated. He did not know how true that was, but he shuddered to find out.

'Work harder!' one of the guards shouted. It was one of the many English phrases that Bogdan had picked up in his time here. 'You! What are you doing, resting? _Crucio!_ '

There was a scream. Bogdan risked turning his gaze to investigate. Several metres to his right, Stanislaw was on the ground, twitching and screaming in pain. Bogdan felt a murderous hatred towards the guard for torturing his fellow Pole, but he was powerless to do anything, not with two other guards also covering them…

'That should teach you to work harder,' the guard spat, lifting the Curse and slapping Stanislaw across the face. 'Next time you slack off, it will be a minute, understood?'

Bogdan did not think Stanislaw understood – he did not understand it himself. The only one in their group who could understand English was Alyosha, but it was not like he was helpful. He could only translate into Russian, and knew not a word of Polish. By the time anything had gotten through the 'translation assembly line', it was nearly always too garbled for anyone to understand.

Stanislaw nodded nervously and picked up his axe, getting back to work, still twitching a little from the Cruciatus Curse's after-effects. Bogdan swung his axe with particular venom. There was a crack, and the tree fell.

'Drag it back to camp, you,' one of the guards snarled. 'And you – ' he pointed to Igor, ' – you help him.'

Neither Igor nor Bogdan needed to understand English to know what the guard had ordered. Bogdan stowed his axe back in his belt and grabbed one of the thicker branches of the tree. Igor stood on the opposite side of the trunk and grabbed another. Slowly, they pulled the felled tree over the uneven ground, occasionally getting caught in bushes or between other trees. The guard accompanied them closely the whole time, occasionally hit them if they did not move fast enough.

It was back-breaking work, but bit-by-bit, the two of them managed to return to the camp compound. The guard said something to the two other guards at the entrance, and they opened the front gate, letting them in.

They dragged the felled tree onto a pile of others. They would have to process the wood later, but for now, they had to return to their work detail in the forest. The guard was already beckoning impatiently, his hand twitching towards his wand.

Suddenly, there was a whistling noise, then a huge explosion. Bogdan jerked around. A giant red fireball was rising above what he recognised as the rail yard. He had heard that there had been a shipment of fuel oil earlier just that day. Had it exploded?

And suddenly, there was another explosion. This time, he turned his head down the main thoroughfare of the camp. Bogdan's heart jumped. Where the commandant's house used to stand, there was now only a cloud of smoke and debris billowing into the air.

The camp was under attack, Bogdan realised, as another shell or missile exploded right in front of the entrance gates. The iron gates were blown off their hinges and flew through the air. Bogdan thought he could see a torn-off, bloody limb fly through the air. The guards at the entrance must have both been killed by the blast.

Another explosion, but this time, Bogdan realised with a jolt of horror, the projectile had hit one of the barracks. The ramshackle wooden structure was blown outwards and collapsed in a pile of timber. Bogdan was almost thankful that the work details were out right now, and no one would have been in the now-destroyed barrack.

The guard's wand shot into his hand as another blast occurred somewhere off to Bogdan's right. The green-robed swine's back was turned, Bogdan saw, mindless to his two charges still standing right behind him. He saw his opportunity.

Bogdan grabbed his axe from his toolbelt, raised it into the air, and charged the guard. He brought it down with a grunt right over the man's head. A shower of blood sprayed out of the wound as the thug's head was split open. The man collapsed, dropping his wand as he died.

He reached down and grabbed the wand. As he did so, another green-robed guard turned and began rushing at Igor. Before he could aim, however, the Russian had thrown his axe at him. The guard did not even try to dodge before the axe's head buried itself deep within his chest. There was a sickening crack of bone, a torrent of blood staining the hideous green robes as the man's aorta burst, and a dull thud of death.

Igor rushed forward and picked up the fallen man's wand. Prisoners were streaming onto the main thoroughfare now, investigating the source of the commotion. Guards, too, were arriving by the dozens to secure the entrance to the camp. Several prisoners attempted to charge them down, but were cut down by a mixture of jets of light and bullets.

' _Confringo!_ ' Bogdan bellowed. His curse flew true and hit one of the guards right in his chest. Despite the incompatibility of the looted wand, he still felt his righteous rage and desire for vengeance overpower the spell. The wizard's chest was blown open, leaving a bloody mess of organs and flesh in its place.

More prisoners were picking up wands or rifles from killed guards, and were now fighting back. Bogdan took cover behind a low wall as an orange flash of lightning soared over his head. He did not know what that unknown spell was or did, but most certainly did not want to be caught in its way.

' _Пошли_ _!_ ' Igor shouted as he rose and dashed forward. Bogdan understood without understanding what he had meant. He crossed a narrow stretch of open ground and took cover behind another concrete barrier, this time several steps closer to the entrance.

Bogdan cast more Blasting Curses at the guards by the entrance, felling a few more. Igor did not hold back, and fought back with Killing Curses, though it was obvious that he was taking more effort to cast with the commandeered wand.

' _Шанс есть! Давай!_ ' Igor yelled. Bogdan looked towards the gate. There was only one lone guard left. If they could kill him…

Igor got up and ran, Bogdan following a step behind him. He stepped over the bodies of the dead prisoners and guards, being careful not to trip – to trip would be to die. He shot a Blasting Curse at the guard that knocked him off his feet, stunning him.

They were fifty metres away now. Twenty. Ten. It was just like any other sprint that the teachers had made them do back in primary school. Five metres to the finish line. He crossed it.

He was free.

Igor suddenly roared in pain. Bogdan stopped dead in his tracks. The guard that Bogdan had knocked out with his Blasting Curse had come to. His wand was levelled at Igor. Between him and the Russian arced an orange bolt of lightning. Igor's face was contorted in an expression of agony.

' _Confringo!_ ' Bogdan yelled, aiming directly for the guard's head. The Blasting Curse hit the man right in the face. His head shattered. Blood, bone, and brain matter flew in all directions. Blood poured freely out of the severed neck, and the arm holding the wand fell limply and lifelessly to the forest floor.

Bogdan kneeled down next to Igor and shook him. He was not dead. He did not look dead. Bogdan slapped his face, but he was unresponsive. His eyes were closed. Bogdan peeled open one eyelid to find the man's eyes dull and unseeing. He was dead. But he was not. His eyes were dead, but his body was not. Bogdan could still feel a pulse, a heartbeat.

But he could not stay. From the depths of the camp, he could hear the sounds of motors. The reinforcements must be coming. He needed to run.

Abandoning Igor with a jolt of regret and sorrow, Bogdan dashed into the forest, running as far away as he could, as fast as he could. They might be searching for escapees soon, and he needed to get away…

He looked up at the sun. He knew that it was still morning and the sun would be in the east – where he needed to go. He oriented himself and began charting a path in that direction. There, a long way away, was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to maschl for all his help with almost every aspect of this story. Thank you to W H Rutledge for his beta work.
> 
> Translations:
> 
> French:
> 
> The song Hugo and Madeleine sing is called Le Chant des déportes, or alternatively, Le Chant des marais. Look it up if you are interested.
> 
> Russian:
> 
> Пошли = Go!
> 
> Шанс есть! Давай! = We have a chance! Let's go!


	16. XV: The Greater Game

'They are ready to audience with you, My Lord.'

The Dark Lord checked his robes over one last time. He was not fixated on aesthetics, but he knew that he needed to impress. The success of his grand plan hinged on his success today.

He would never admit it, but he had been hit with setback after setback in recent weeks. First it had been the disaster that had been the Trier raid. Then, it was the destruction of the train carrying his Inferi-soldiers to the Russian front. Finally, it had been the destruction of the camp at Phillippeville.

The Dark Lord had made the mistake of ignoring the remaining German threat to instead focus on his ambitions for Russia, but that had come back to haunt him. The German counter-revolutionaries had somehow managed to _gain_ strength, as evidenced by their improved capabilities and increased audacity. The Dark Lord now realised that before he could continue with his plans for Russia, he would need to pacify his opponents closer to home first. And what he was about to do was going to buy him the time he needed to do so.

Rookwood had suggested he form an alliance of convenience with his supporters in the country. At first, the Dark Lord scoffed at this, but he gradually came to see that the man had read the situation right. If he went through with the 'alliance', not only could the Dark Lord redirect some of his forces from the Russian front to finally deal with the thorn in his side that was the Germans, it would also give time for the Russian pure-bloods to further weaken the muggle government, rendering it elementary for him to simply march in and seize the country when the time came.

The Dark Lord strode out into his throne room. On cue, the doors opened, and three people marched in. Standing in the centre was a thin, wiry man – the Minister. To his right stood a man almost as wide as he was tall. To his right was a small, squat woman.

'Minister Yezhovskiy, it is a pleasure to finally be meeting with you,' the Dark Lord said in as gracious a voice as he could possible.

The Minister kneeled at his feet and kissed the hem of his robes. 'My Lord,' he said in a thick Russian accent. 'It is, always, honour to be in your presence.'

The Dark Lord smiled almost imperceptibly. At least his Russian sympathisers could show proper respect without devolving into robe-wetting fear. His Death Eaters, especially the idiot Lestrange, could certainly use a few lessons in that department.

'Rise, Minister,' the Dark Lord whispered.

Yezhovskiy stood with an almost reverent look on his face. 'May I introduce you to my entourage, My Lord?'

'You may, Minister.'

Yezhovskiy pointed to the enormous man standing to his right. 'Artyom Aleksandrovich Blokhinov, My Lord. Head of the Bureau of Security.' He next pointed to the woman on his left. 'Galina Dmitriyevna Lesnitskaya, My Lord. Head of the Office of _Muggle_ Relations,' he said, uttering the word 'muggle' with venom.

The Dark Lord nodded approvingly. 'Attendants!' he roared. Two of the half-blood servants came up to him. 'Show our esteemed guests to their seats. And do not touch them with your filthy hands!'

The attendants bowed the Russians to their seats and promptly left silently. The Dark Lord sat down on his throne at the head of the table. A few seconds later, three different attendants came and set down refreshments at the table.

'Finest elf-made wine, my honoured guests,' the Dark Lord said as the servants poured the drink into golden goblets embossed with the emblem of the noble Salazar Slytherin. 'Five elves died just this year to operate the machinery to produce this elixir.'

The Russians nodded approvingly while one of the half-blood servants shivered, and the Dark Lord made a mental note to punish her later for her show of weakness in front of such important guests. Being half-bloods, they could not stomach death, could not understand the rightness of how it was done. They were good for menial tasks and being curse fodder for the SES, but not much more.

'We are gathered here to discuss an…alignment of our aims,' the Dark Lord began. The Russians turned to him and listened with rapt attention. 'I am, for one, very pleased with the work you have done in your own country.'

' _Gryaznokrovki_ do not even have the right to walk the Earth,' Yezhovskiy spat. 'We are simply doing what is right.'

'And you are doing it well, Minister,' the Dark Lord said. He was becoming ever more pleased at his decision to accept Rookwood's suggestion and enter the temporary alliance with the Russian pure-blood faction. 'What is the condition of the Mudblood-loving faction?'

'We are weakening them by the day, My Lord,' Yezhovskiy replied with an almost happy tone in his voice. 'They lost their last influences in our Ministry when Blokhinov replaced the Mudblood Sukhoi as the Head of the Bureau of Security.'

'And do they continue to resist?'

'Yes, My Lord. Please forgive us. They will not resist too much longer,' Blokhinov said, his low, raspy voice making him sound more like he was grunting than speaking. 'They are already being forced from _Sankt-Peterburg_ and will only continue to flee as we…catch up to them.'

The Dark Lord nodded approvingly. 'There is nothing to forgive,' he assured. 'One cannot expect to remove all the stains in one night. Very good…and the muggles?'

Lesnitskaya sighed. 'We are having…more trouble…with the scum,' she replied. 'The coup that the faction of Orlov attempted did not manage to remove all the elements of the former government from power.'

'What does that mean?'

'There continues to be a low-level civil war between the supporters of Orlov and those opposed to him,' Lesnitskaya answered. 'Those who are against Orlov still control large parts of the muggle army.'

'That is no matter,' the Dark Lord said. 'The muggle scum will be crushed underfoot in time.'

Yezhovskiy nodded. 'Yes, My Lord. We will work harder to strengthen Orlov's position.'

'You have the Dark Lord's praise and gratitude,' the Dark Lord told the Minister. 'I thank you all for bringing the situation to my attention. Now, shall we move on to the business that we are here for?'

'Certainly, My Lord.'

'Good. Now, as I see it, our aims align,' the Dark Lord said. 'You wish to eliminate the Mudblood filth and establish righteous wizard rule over the muggles. We wish to do the same. I propose that we enter into an…alliance…to advance our common interests.'

Yezhovskiy's eyebrows shot up. 'My Lord? You are willing to extend to us this honour?'

'Yes,' the Dark Lord answered. 'You have proved yourself…capable. I wholeheartedly believe that you could achieve your aims on your own, of course, but with our support…it could certainly be…expedited.'

Yezhovskiy stared at the Dark Lord mutely for a long minute. The Dark Lord looked almost lazily back. He knew that the Russian was searching for any ulterior motives, but he was never going to find them. The Dark Lord was the greatest Occlumens the world had ever seen, after all. His mind was secure.

'We would be honoured to not only enter into an alliance, but also swear fealty to you, My Lord,' Yezhovskiy said finally, able to see nothing from the Dark Lord's mind.

The Dark Lord smiled inwardly. Weaker beings than him were always easy to manipulate and control, always easy to press into his service. All the Dark Lord needed to do was grant an inch, and those weaker will offer the full yard in return. It seemed that the Russian Minister was no different.

He stood up. 'The Dark Lord graciously accepts your service.'

Yezhovskiy obediently rose from his seat, knelt down in front of the Dark Lord, and kissed the hem of his robes. 'I am honoured, My Lord. I am honoured.'

'May your loyalty be unwavering and your services be great, Minister.'

'Of course, of course, My Lord.'

* * *

'Did you know that this city is one of the oldest in Germany?' Hermione asked as she and Harry walked down the street hand-in-hand. A light breeze swept through Hermione's hair, sweeping stray curls into the air and tickling Harry's neck and cheeks.

'No, I didn't. I never read _Trier: A History_.'

Hermione rolled her eyes at Harry's idiotic joke. 'That was pathetic.'

Harry looked at her sheepishly. 'I tried.'

'You just don't have the talent,' Hermione chortled. 'Anyway, this city was founded in the fourth century, BC, you know. That's like – '

'A long time ago?'

Hermione snorted. 'Over two thousand years ago, actually.'

'So a long time ago,' Harry concluded. 'I was right.'

'No you weren't,' Hermione rebutted lightly. '"Long" is a relative term. Depending on the context, it could be several minutes ago, or it could've been ten billion years ago. How was I supposed to know how long your "long" was?'

'You just wanted to be right,' Harry huffed playfully.

'Are you going to deny me the pleasure?'

'You know I could never do that,' Harry said reluctantly, knowing that he was defeated.

They walked down the streets at a leisurely pace. Occasionally, Hermione would point out one ancient building or another. Truthfully, they all looked the same to Harry – weathered brown or grey stones and black roofs – and it was all very boring. But it was a good boring, for he was in the company of a safe, lively, and most importantly, happy, Hermione. Her eyes were not hard and cold, like they were after she had killed, but warm and loving, like they had been more than half a decade ago before the war.

It had been six days since the attack on the train, four days since the resistance had attacked the concentration camp. Harry pressed Anna every morning for news, but there was none. Not one escaped prisoner had come through the border checkpoints so far. Harry told himself that it would take time for the weakened prisoners to trek the hundred-or-so kilometres to Trier, but a growing part of him had begun to think that there were no escapees at all.

Hermione squeezed his hand, perhaps realising that he was immersed in his thoughts again. Her tender yet concerned smile snapped Harry out of it at once. He returned it genuinely, feeling truly grateful for the fact that they were here together.

They stopped at an ice cream parlour. It was incredible how normal everything seemed. Here, in a city right in the middle of a war zone, the two of them could spend time like this, completely in peace, having a sweet treat that would have been a priceless luxury back home.

Of course, it was not all normal. Reminders of war were everywhere. Men and women of all ages walked down the street with assault rifles slung over their shoulders. Anti-aircraft guns were mounted on flat rooftops. Groups of soldiers would march by, carrying heavy weapons, and even the occasional tank drove past, awing the passers-by.

It was like being in the eye of a storm.

They climbed one of the hills to the south of the city and enjoyed the view over the lush green valley, dotted with medieval buildings. The trees on either side of the outlook hid the fortifications built up to the west of the city, keeping elevated the mood of blissful ignorance.

Harry and Hermione ate lunch at a small café overlooking the Moselle. The blue waters flowed leisurely by as the two of them sipped their cups of coffee. It was all so beautiful, so peaceful, and the romantic part of Harry that survived really wanted to stay here…forever…and forget the world outside.

'Maybe we should stay here, Hermione,' he mused. 'Grow old.'

'I would like to, too,' she breathed. 'What's stopping us from just running away, Harry?'

Harry took another long sip of coffee. There was no need to answer. Hermione would never live to grow old if they simply abandoned the fight and ran away. Neither would he, on second thought. And he did promise to survive for Hermione's sake…

'Everything,' he answered grimly.

'Everything?'

'You.'

'Me?'

'You. You are everything,' Harry said. 'You're what's stopping me from just running away.'

'You're what's keeping me here, too,' Hermione breathed. 'But have you ever thought of it?'

Harry shook his head. 'Never. Not even back when things weren't so bad. I was stupid, you know. I thought once that I was fighting because the Prophecy dictated that I had to. But it was never about that. It was about – '

'Vengeance,' Hermione finished.

Harry nodded. 'Vengeance. But also…for _us_ , Hermione.'

'For us?'

'For our future,' Harry replied. 'Whatever future we _can_ have…'

Hermione's eyes turned hollow. 'I can't even imagine what it'll be like after…if there's an after… We've lost so much… _you've_ lost so much, Harry.'

'But I still have you,' Harry said, trying to smile. 'And you're worth fighting for.'

'And you are, too,' Hermione echoed tenderly.

The warm rays of the afternoon sun warmed Harry's skin, but it was Hermione who warmed Harry's soul.

* * *

The soldier held the door open and Hugo Allard stepped over the threshold. He found himself in a small, dimly lit waiting room. There were several uncomfortable-looking chairs pushed up against one wall, and on a 'coffee table' was a stack of slightly yellowed newspapers.

'Take a seat and wait,' the soldier said. 'Someone will be with you shortly.'

Hugo sat down without another word, Madeleine taking the seat next to him. The soldier left to stand by the door, holding his assault rifle rather menacingly. Hugo found that the chairs really were as uncomfortable as they looked, but that was not high on his list of concerns.

For they had made it. It had been more than a week of moving almost at a snail's pace only under the cover of night. It had been more than a week of hiding from any sight or sound of human presence. It had been more than a week of wondering what exactly they would find at the end of the journey.

Hugo and Madeleine waited in tense silence for someone to show up. The soldiers at the outposts who had picked them up had told them that they would have to undergo an 'interview' of some sort. His weapons and wand had been taken from him, and though he knew he was in resistance territory, the separation still made him supremely uncomfortable and on-edge.

Finally, after nearly twenty minutes of waiting, a man dressed in a stern military uniform appeared. He exchanged some words in German with the guard at the door, who then handed him a document. The man wrote something on the piece of paper and then signed it.

' _Mademoiselle_ Deschamps?'

'That is me,' Madeleine said, nodding.

'Come with me, please.'

Madeleine stood up and followed the soldier through one of the four doors along the opposite wall of the room. Barely five minutes had passed since she had disappeared when four ragged-looking men almost fell through the door and into the room.

'Please take a seat,' the soldier at the door said in French. 'You will be interviewed shortly.'

It seemed that only one of the four actually understood French, and he translated to the others in some language that sounded Slavic. The other three men nodded and began shuffling in Hugo's direction.

Only when they had walked halfway across the room did anyone give any sign that they had even seen Hugo, when one of the men's eyes suddenly focused on him. The empty stare he the man gave him made the hairs on the back of Hugo's neck stand up.

The men jabbered amongst themselves. Finally, one man stepped forward. ' _Polak_?' he asked.

Hugo was confused. 'Pardon?'

' _On jest Francuzem,'_ another of the men said. ' _Pawel, ty z nim porozmawiaj._ '

A tall, scarily thin man with mousy hair stepped forward. ' _Bonjour, monsieur_.'

Hugo barely comprehended him through the thick Eastern European accent. ' _Bonjour_ ,' he replied, nodding slightly.

' _Je suis Pawel. Et vous?_ ' the man asked in broken French, sticking out his hand almost excitedly. Hugo shook it briefly. Pawel's grip was incredibly weak, he noticed. Upon a closer look at his face, Hugo could see immediately that he had been terribly malnourished.

' _Hugo_ ,' he replied guardedly.

Pawel nodded. 'Are you escapee too?'

'Escapee?'

'From camp.'

Hugo furrowed his brow. _Camp?_ Did he mean…

'Concentration camp?' Hugo asked, alarmed. 'Did you come from…from France?'

'France? No. I think Belgium,' Pawel answered.

'What kind of camp did you escape from?' Hugo pressed. He knew that he was being rather insensitive and perhaps even rude, but he needed answers. Seeing the destroyed concentration camp had lit a fire in him that had nearly been extinguished. It was a fire of determination, of rebellion, of revenge.

Pawel took a few seconds to parse the question. When he understood the meaning, his face grew dark at once. ' _Koncentracyjny_. Concentration, I think, yes,' he muttered.

The fire burning inside Hugo flared. 'Were you the only escapees? And how did you escape?'

' _Tak_. All that I know. There is I, Bogdan, Vasiliy, and Jaroslaw.'

'May I ask something?'

Pawel nodded. 'Yes, please.'

'What was it like inside the camp?' Hugo nearly growled out.

If at all possible, the look on Pawel's face grew even darker. 'Very bad,' he answered simply.

Hugo took a deep breath. 'Please, I want to know,' he tried in a gentler tone. 'I am French. I fight against Voldemort. I want revenge on whoever was responsible for this.'

Pawel sat in silence for a long minute, clearly deliberating whether he wanted to tell more or not. Hugo did not need to wonder what made Pawel so reluctant to tell. The mere thought of the horrors that they must have been through made the blood boil in his veins.

'Yes, I understand,' Pawel said finally. His already pale face had lost even more of its colour. 'It was…terrible. They gave us one slice of bread per day. Sometimes it was filled with sawdust from the workshops. They would use Cruciatus Curse, or beat us. And…they used us as slave labour. They assigned me to the kitchen. Bogdan, Vasiliy, and Jaroslaw were all sent to cut down trees.'

'And they would often kill people for no reason,' Pawel continued, seemingly on a morbid roll. 'They would shoot us, or use Killing Curse. Or beat us to death. Sometimes, people simply starved to death and were left for the animals.'

Pawel was shaking a little, but Hugo did not try to touch him to comfort or stabilise him. He had seen enough to know that victims of trauma were often averse to uninvited contact. Inwardly, Hugo was raging. The flame had grown into a wildfire and was scorching his chest, his heart. He had imagined similar horrors, but hearing them being told was a fully different experience. A crazy part of him wanted to charge out this instant, find a camp, and destroy it, massacring as many of the guards as he could.

'Thank you,' he said to Pawel. 'For your bravery.'

'No. We were not brave,' Pawel disagreed. 'We did not save others, just ran away and saved ourselves. You are brave. You fight, save others. We did not.'

'I never saved a single prisoner from a camp,' Hugo replied guiltily. 'All I have ever done is smuggle people out of the country.'

'It does not matter,' Pawel said. 'You fight against him, and you save lives. It does not matter who, or how.'

'Not enough. Never enough,' Hugo replied through gritted teeth. 'I should have done more. I could have done more.'

Pawel shook his head. 'No, _Monsieur Hugo._ There are perhaps hundreds of people alive who would not be if not for your actions.'

A tense, heavy silence fell over them, broken only when the door that Madeleine had entered through earlier opened. She stepped out, an emotionless expression on her face. She took her old seat without a word, only giving Hugo a dry nod as she passed.

' _Monsieur_ Allard!' the man called, sticking his head through the doorframe. Hugo rose and crossed the room, giving Pawel what he hoped was a reassuring look as he went.

Hugo followed the man into the room. The inside was just as austere as the waiting room. There was a rather worn-out table and two wooden chairs. The whole space was harshly lit by a bright white fluorescent lamp.

'I am Erich Holzer,' the man said rather stiffly, extending his hand. 'Well met.'

Hugo nodded and shook his hand. Holzer gestured for him to sit down on one of the chairs before taking a seat on the other. He poured a glass of water and slid it across the table. 'Please.'

'Is there something in this water?' Hugo asked suspiciously.

Holzer looked at Hugo impassively and said nothing. Hugo took that as a 'yes'. A small part of him wanted to run out of here right then, but he thought better of it when he remembered the heavily armed guard standing out by the door. With more than a small measure of reluctance, Hugo picked up the glass and drank. The moment the drink touched his lips, he felt a sense of calm that the part of his consciousness that could still think freely knew must have been caused by a Truth Serum.

'What is your name?' he heard Holzer ask.

'Hugo Allard,' he answered without resistance.

'Country of origin?'

'France.'

'Why are you here?'

'Escorting a refugee to a safe zone.'

'Who is that refugee?'

'The woman you just interviewed. Madeleine Deschamps.'

'What are your intentions for being here? And do you plan to remain?'

'I do not know.'

Holzer slid another glass of water across the table and gestured for Hugo to drink it. He picked it up without hesitation and drained the cup, coming around out of the potion-induced daze at once. He blinked, focusing his eyes, and found Holzer looking at him with an approving look on his face.

'You are a member of the French resistance?' he inquired.

'If you can still call it that,' Hugo replied darkly.

Holzer's expression morphed into one of almost sympathy. 'The situation is really that critical?'

'Do you not know?' Hugo asked, slightly confused. 'We bring refugees here all the time. Have you not met another member of the resistance?'

'We meet Belgians, mostly, coming from the north,' Holzer answered. 'Rarely, if ever, does anyone come directly from France. We see so few Frenchmen that this checkpoint is barely ever used, in fact.'

Hugo could feel his blood leave his face and extremities. Was the resistance in the eastern part of his country so weakened that they could not even run their refugee operation? Was his country so fully under the yoke of oppression that there was no one remaining willing to rise up?

'You really have seen no one from France?' Hugo asked in disbelief.

Holzer sighed. 'Well…you need to qualify that question. If you mean _French people_ in general, then we have seen many. Many are living in our territories, in fact. If you mean _French resistance_ , however…then as I said, no, we have not seen many.'

'How many French live here?' Hugo pressed. 'You said there were many.'

'Maybe in the several thousands?' Holzer replied a little unsurely. 'We process maybe thirty to forty people a day across all our checkpoints. A good third of them are French or Belgian.' He paused, and Hugo was surprised to see his expression shift suddenly into one of disapproval. 'There are also many former…leaders…and politicians…from both the magical and non-magical side of things.'

' _What?_ ' Hugo shouted, all of a sudden losing his temper at Holzer's last statement. The firestorm of anger and vengeance raged inside him, making him see red. 'Our former leaders? Here? In safety? While we risk our lives? How…how dare they? They were supposed to – '

' _Monsieur_ Allard, please calm down – '

'They were supposed to be responsible for ensuring our well-being!' Hugo roared, ignoring the German. 'I still remember it! The _Magenmagot_ rolled over and _died_ not a week after the invasion! And they _ran_? Leaving us to pick up the pieces and try to save the lives that they were supposed to protect?'

' _Monsieur_ Allard, I agree with you,' Holzer said, more loudly. 'But please, this is not the place.'

'The whole country is under martial law by the GBS, _bordel_!' Hugo yelled, trying to lower his voice but failing to do so even by a little bit. 'They are trying to track down Potter, the last hope that any of us has for winning this war. And they are sitting here, wanking and – '

'Sit down and stop yelling,' Holzer ordered authoritatively. 'You cannot continue like this. I do not wish to call the guards on you, _camarade_ , but I will if I have to.'

Hugo took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. The fire in him tempered a little, and he sat down in the chair, still fuming.

'There are a group of four men outside,' he said, his voice shaking in fury. 'They had just escaped from a concentration camp in _France_. They were starved, beaten, some of them were arbitrarily killed. And these…pigs…do not care? They are content to sit here in safety? Not once have I heard one of them even attempt to rally the resistance, or address the people to continue the fight, or even offer their support!'

'Believe me, many of our former leaders are the same,' Holzer consoled.

'But your country is not the same as ours!' Hugo argued. 'You have an active resistance that can hold territory, can fight back. What do we have? A few hundred people who can do nothing better than smuggle refugees around the country! They have abandoned us to whatever awful fate we are in, while they sit under your protection!'

'What do you expect us to do about it?' Holzer snapped. 'Do you expect us to expel them? Send them back to France so they can be killed because of their own incompetence? Or worse, join Voldemort because they are cowards?'

'They would deserve death,' Hugo muttered darkly. He looked up. 'You said that there are several thousand Frenchmen here?'

Holzer nodded. 'Yes. That is my rough estimate.'

'Are they fighting?'

Holzer sighed. 'No, they are not. But I do not think that is because they do not want to fight. The commander here, _Generalleutnant_ Schumacher, is rather…averse…to recruiting refugees. Well…that is…except for…'

'Except for what?' Hugo demanded.

'Harry Potter arrived here a week ago,' Holzer answered. 'They managed to convince Schumacher to let them fight.'

Hugo sat bolt upright in his chair. 'Potter is here?'

'He arrived a week ago, yes. With three others.'

Hugo wanted to breathe a sigh of relief. So they had all arrived safely. The GBS, despite their best efforts, had not succeeded in trying to track them down. And he was fighting – Hugo expected nothing less of him. The fire in his chest licked his insides triumphantly. The flame of the resistance was not extinguished.

'If Potter can fight, why can the others not?' Hugo demanded. 'They can help free their own country! Do you know what the resistance can do with several thousand people?'

'Schumacher is hesitant,' Holzer said. 'He is paranoid that Voldemort could funnel spies in through the stream of refugees. He is not wrong in principle, but as you have seen, we interrogate all refugees upon arrival. We have caught perhaps hundreds of spying or espionage attempts in the time that we have had this system in place.'

'But there is another problem with what you're saying, anyway,' he continued. 'A few thousand people is not enough to take back a country. You cannot march straight across the border and take back Paris. You will need support networks, safehouses – '

'All of which the cowards knew and had!' Hugo spat. 'And they ran, taking all of that knowledge with them!'

'Then what you should do is obvious,' Holzer concluded. 'Speak to them – '

' _I want to tear their hearts out and feed it to them!_ ' Hugo snarled.

'Maybe after you have spoken to them,' Holzer said calmly. 'But if they have the information you and I both know you need…then you should attempt to get that information, should you not?'

Hugo swallowed. He could see Holzer's point, but his heart was still filled with murderous hatred towards the cowards who had let his countrymen down. He took several deep breaths, forcing himself to calm down. Holzer's analysis was right. He needed the information, and if he needed to work with the swine to get it…then he will. He turned towards Holzer and nodded jerkily.

'Then I will not waste any more of your time,' Holzer said, standing up. 'Let us go.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to maschl for all his help with almost every aspect of this story. Thank you to W H Rutledge for his beta work.
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Polish:
> 
> On jest Francuzem. Pawel, ty z nim porozmawiaj. = He is French. Pavel, you talk to him
> 
> (Note: This is machine-translated and un-checked.)


	17. XVI: France Libre

Harry was laying on a beach. The sand was warm beneath his back, and the gentle rays of the summer sun filtered through the palm trees above. Hermione was laying next to him, a book held above her head, serving both as entertainment and as a shield for her eyes against the glare. She was wearing only bikini bottoms, and Harry could not help himself but to sneak a glance over at her once every few seconds. So far, he seemed to be getting away with it. But even if she realized, she did not say anything about it.

There was an out-of-place chime that seemed to Harry like a doorbell ringing. Hermione did not seem to hear it, so Harry too ignored it.

The chime sounded again, and this time, Hermione reacted. She snapped her book closed and leaned over. She said something that Harry did not quite catch, though that may have been a result of him being too busy staring at her. She reached down and began to shake him. The beach seemed to fade around him…

'Hermione, what?' he mumbled. The beach disappeared and in front of him was…Hermione. But instead of leaning over on top of him, she was in his arms, shaking him awake.

'What's going on? Where did we apparate?'

'Apparate?' Hermione asked, sounding confused.

Harry felt just as puzzled as he felt. 'We were on a beach, were we not?'

To his surprise, Hermione began laughing. 'What dream did you come out of, Harry?'

Harry scratched his head. 'Dream?'

'We aren't on a beach, Harry,' Hermione chortled. 'We never were on a beach. You just woke up from some dream that probably involved some dirty fantasies of me.'

'Did not!'

'You so did. You're blushing.'

'And so?'

'So you did!' Hermione said, as if it were final.

Harry rolled his eyes. 'I heard the doorbell ring. Was it Anna?'

Hermione shrugged. 'No idea. Neville and Daph went to answer it because you were still engrossed in your filthy dream.'

'No I wasn't!' Harry protested. 'And who's to say you aren't having dirty dreams about me?'

Hermione blushed slightly pink and cocked an eyebrow. ' _Little Harry_ says otherwise.'

Harry felt his face burn. 'W-Well…uh…'

'Yeah, that's right,' Hermione chided. 'Come on, let's get out of bed. If Anna's here, she might have something important to tell us.'

Without giving Harry a say in the matter, Hermione threw back the covers and sat up. The glorious view of her in her birthday suit was immediately ruined by the sudden draft of cold morning air.

'You should've given me some warning!'

'Sorry,' Hermione said with a smirk that indicated she was definitely not sorry. 'At least it calmed _Harry Junior_ down.'

Harry scowled at her, but she simply smiled innocently back at him, as if nothing were wrong. Reluctantly, he picked up the clothes that had been haphazardly thrown all over the floor the previous evening and tugged them on. They descended the stairs down to the lounge, Harry still feeling slightly but amusedly annoyed at Hermione's earlier antics. When they arrived, they saw Neville and Daphne, still looking bedraggled, sitting with Anna and the officer Harry recognised as Erich.

'There they are,' Daphne deadpanned. 'Fresh from their morning activities.'

Harry shot her a filthy look and plopped down on one of the free armchairs. Hermione squeezed in next to him, crushing his legs, but Harry found that he did not mind.

'Good morning,' Hermione said, yawning.

Anna nodded. 'Good morning to you, too. You took a while. I have to wonder…'

'There was nothing to it!' Harry said immediately. He pointed accusingly at Neville and Daphne. 'I don't know what those two hooligans were telling you, but I was still asleep, okay? Nothing that you're imagining happened, and even if it did, that's none of your business.'

'Yeah, sure, okay,' Anna said with some measure of disbelief in her voice. 'Well, anyway, something interesting happened earlier this morning. Or rather, Erich met someone interesting.'

Hermione leaned forward slightly. 'Okay…what happened?'

'Do you happen to know a man named "Hugo Allard"?' Erich spoke up.

'Yes, we do,' Harry replied, surprised. Was Allard here? And why was he here? 'Did you meet him?'

Erich nodded. 'He came through the checkpoint near Merzig not three hours ago. He claimed to know you.'

'He does,' Neville affirmed. 'We met him in France. But why is he _here_ of all places? He was based out of Dieppe…that's like on the complete opposite side of France as here.'

'He was escorting a refugee,' Erich answered.

'Has he been here before, then?' Harry asked, intrigued.

Erich shook his head. 'No. Not that I am aware of. Refugees from France usually go north through Belgium and come through the checkpoint that you entered, or through the checkpoint upriver in Luxembourg. So few people come from France directly that the Merzig checkpoint is barely even used.'

'But…why was he escorting someone all the way here?' Daphne asked. 'We…we went with him on one of his "missions". He's responsible for covering only a little more than a hundred miles. Not…all the way here.'

'That is not a question I know the answer to,' Erich said. 'However, when I brought up the fact that you were here, however, he asked to meet you. If you would like to meet him, then that is a question that you can pose to him directly.'

The four of them exchanged several looks. 'Should we?' Harry asked.

'I don't see the harm,' Daphne replied. 'I don't know what we can get out of it…strategically…if anything. But…I mean…he did help us, right? And he asked to meet us. It's the least we can do…we need to keep this…contact…alive, don't we?'

Harry shared another glance with Hermione. She gave a small nod of approval. 'I think we should, too.' She turned back to Erich. 'What else did he say? If he said anything.'

Erich shrugged. 'He was rather…angry…the whole time. He raged about the uselessness of the politicians hiding under our protection…how they were cowards who abandoned the people and all that.'

'Well, he's not wrong to be,' Harry said a little harshly, recalling what he had seen in France. Even he felt some measure of anger at those who had abandoned the country and people to their fate under the yoke of Voldemort's rule.

'I did not say he was,' Erich qualified. 'I happen to agree with his perspective. I am just telling you what he had said and how he had said it.'

Harry nodded. 'Where is he now, then?'

'I brought him to talk to the _Generalleutnant_ , as he had asked,' Erich replied. 'He wants to fight, but I do not know if he could convince Schumacher. He is rather…stubborn in his ways.'

'But you interrogate all the refugees under Veritaserum, don't you?' Hermione asked. 'Could spies even slip through? Unless they manage to counteract its effects…'

Anna shook her head. 'It is not Veritaserum that we use,' she said. 'It is a different, subtler truth potion that does not have a known countermeasure. Spies have tried using the Veritaserum antidote to slip past our defences, but they have always been caught.'

'They why does Schumacher…'

'He is simply paranoid, that is all,' Anna answered sadly. 'A part of that is understandable. He did not grow up with magic and does not completely trust it. However, I would have hoped that the results would speak for themselves…'

'What if we vouch for Allard? We can attest to his character,' Hermione suggested. ' _Can_ we vouch for him?'

Anna and Erich shared a look. Anna shrugged slightly. 'Perhaps,' she said to Hermione. 'I have never objected to others joining the fight, and could never understand Schumacher's paranoia. And if say that his character and motives are sound, then…I do not see why not.'

'Then let's get going,' Harry said impulsively, standing up. 'Where is he?'

'He should be at headquarters,' Erich answered. 'You are sure?'

Harry nodded. 'I'm sure. Are you coming with us?'

'I'll come with you,' Anna said. 'Schumacher…well…you know how he's like sometimes, set in his ways. He may not listen to you, even knowing who you are. As for me…maybe he will be a little more receptive to my opinion. Erich, you can head back.'

The six of them stepped out of the house. Erich crossed the street and retreated into the unit's headquarters.

'You know where to go, right?' Anna asked. Harry nodded and turned on the spot to disapparate, arriving a second later in an alley next to the austere grey building that hosted the resistance's headquarters. In the next few seconds, Hermione, Neville, Daphne, and Anna appeared next to him.

Anna led them out of the alley and past the guards at the entrance before they all crammed into a lift, taking it up to the sixth floor. 'Schumacher's old secretary got sacked. Apparently even Schumacher got sick of her antics,' she whispered in a voice of undisguised glee as they rode the lift. 'The new one is far less of an…obstruction.'

The lift doors opened, and Harry followed Anna into the familiar outer office. Instead of the middle-aged woman sitting behind the desk, however, was an older man with flyaway grey hair.

' _Guten Morgen, Brigadegeneral_ ,' the man greeted Anna quite politely.

' _Guten Morgen, Herr Jäger,_ ' Anna replied, inclining her head. ' _Ist der Generalleutnant da?_ '

The secretary shook his head. ' _Er spricht mit jemandem. Ich glaube, mit einem Franzosen. Sie haben sich lautstark auf Französisch gestritten._ '

' _Ich muss auch mit dem Franzosen sprechen. Würden Sie bitte den Generalleutnant fragen, ob ich hereinkommen darf?_ '

' _Ich werde ihn wissen lassen, dass Sie hier sind._ ' The secretary rose and knocked on Schumacher's door. A few moments later, he gestured them in.

' _Danke_ ,' Anna said appreciatively as she passed. The man gave a dry smile in return.

Harry followed her into the room. Allard was standing in front of Schumacher's desk, looking more tired and weary than he had been when they had met back in France. His face, however, was red in fury and beaded with sweat. To Harry's shocked surprise, the Lieutenant General appeared to look not offended at having obviously just been screamed at, but shocked and almost intimidated.

There was an awkward pause as the five of them stepped into the room. Finally, Allard turned around. His eyes widened when he saw who had just arrived.

'Uh…hello, Hugo,' Neville ventured.

' _Monsieur Longbottom!_ ' Allard said, his face breaking into a small smile.

'Was he the one man you told me about who insisted on calling you "Monsieur Potter"?' Anna asked in a whisper. Harry nodded with an affirming chuckle.

' _Vous les connaissez ?_ ' Schumacher asked, sounding surprised.

' _J'ai déjà dit que je les connais,_ ' Allard replied snappishly. ' _Je ne comprends pas pourquoi vous les laissez combattre contre Voldemort et pas_ nous _!_ '

' _Je comprends que vous avez été un leader de la résistance –_ '

' _Je n'ai été pas un leader, putain !_ ' Allard snarled. ' _Si les politiciens qui se cachent ici n'étaient pas de tels imbéciles, je n'aurais pas devenir « un leader » !_ '

Anna cleared her throat. Hugo stopped his venting and turned towards her.

'What is it that you even want from him, _Monsieur_ …'

'Allard.'

' _Monsieur Allard_. As satisfying as it is, shouting at the _Generalleutnant_ will do you no favours,' Anna said calmly.

'There are four thousand French refugees living here!' Allard yelled. 'Not one – _not one_ – is contributing in any way, because this man – ' He pointed to Schumacher accusingly. ' – Has gotten this idea beaten into his head that they're spies! And the pre-war politicians, _merde_! Not one of them – '

'What is it that you want from him?' Anna repeated.

Allard scowled at her. 'To let us fight, what else? We want to take back our own country!'

'You cannot march across the border with four thousand untrained refugees and expect to conquer Paris,' Anna said evenly.

'The resistance in France has been shattered!' Allard shot back. 'Four thousand of us. Even if only one thousand are willing to fight…do you know how many more lives we can save this way?'

'Believe me, _Monsieur Allard_ , I know,' Anna said. She pointed to Harry and the group. 'These four here have told me about what they had seen in France.'

'But you do not want to help? Or you do not want our help?'

'You are understandably angry, _Monsieur_ , but you are assuming things,' Anna replied. Harry did not know how she was still so calm – perhaps she had endured her fair share of shouting matches with her own subordinates. 'I do not want to be your enemy. I want to help you.'

Allard was taken off guard by her statement. 'Help me?'

'Yes, help you,' Anna snapped. 'You want to fight back? Well, I want you to fight back, too. I am on your side.'

Allard looked disbelieving. 'You will?'

'Anna vouched for us,' Neville said. 'If it weren't for her, we would probably be sitting around, not doing much. Or, more likely, we wouldn't even still be here.'

Allard appeared as if he did not know what to say. Anna turned to Schumacher. ' _Dieser Mann_ ,' she jabbed a finger at Allard. ' _Er hat Harry Potter geholfen, Frankreich sicher zu durchqueren. Ohne ihn stünde er nicht hier. Könnten Sie, Generalleutnant, wirklich an seiner Hingabe_ _für_ _die Sache zweifeln?_ '

Schumacher sighed. ' _Es ist nicht er, sondern die anderen._ '

Anna furrowed her brow. ' _Glauben Sie nicht, dass er die Vertrauenswürdigen von den_ _Unzuverlässigen_ _unterscheiden kann?_ '

' _Aber –_ '

' _Er will sein eigenes verdammtes Land befreien! Wer sind Sie, dass Sie sagen, er könne das nicht?_ '

' _Er will für uns kämpfen…_ '

' _Um zur Befreiung seines Landes beizutragen!_ '

Anna and Schumacher stared each other down for a long time, each no doubt willing the other to back down. It was Schumacher who cracked first.

' _Alors, vous pouvez combattre avec nous_ ,' Schumacher relented, turning to Alllard. ' _Je…je vais publier l'annonce que vous recrutez…_ '

Allard swallowed and nodded. ' _Merci, général_. _Et qu'en est-il de ceux qui viennent d'autres pays ?_ '

Schumacher sighed. ' _Si vous voulez former une légion étrangère…c'est votre choix…je vais vous aider…_ '

' _Et les politiciens ?'_

Schumacher sighed again. ' _Je vous donnerai une liste…des noms…_ '

' _Merci_.' Allard nodded curtly and started towards the door.

'What just happened?' Harry asked Hermione in a whisper, following Hugo out towards the door.

'Allard got what he wanted,' she answered, smiling. 'Schumacher's going to let him recruit. And something about a list of politicians…'

'Probably so he can tear their throats out,' Daphne interjected darkly.

'I wouldn't be all that surprised if he did,' Harry murmured in agreement.

Allard charged past the secretary and into the lift. The five of them piled in after him. They rode down to the ground floor in silence. Harry did not know what to say to him. What was he supposed to say to him, ask him, anyhow? By how he looked, Allard had been through his own trials and tribulations since the day they had parted. How could Harry even begin to relate?

'It is good to see you again, safe and if not in better times, at least in better places,' Allard said when they exited the headquarters. He shook each of their hands in turn. 'I will go now, but I am sure we will see each other soon.'

'Where're you going, Hugo?' Daphne asked.

Allard's face darkened. 'I am not sure,' he muttered. 'I do not know if you understood, but Schumacher is going to allow us to fight. We will need to train the _forces françaises libres_ … And our supposed "leaders" …the cowards will pay, one way or another.'

'Know that I will be available to provide assistance if any is at all needed,' Anna offered, extending her hand. Allard shook it. 'Erich Holzer, the man who interviewed you, is my lieutenant. We have worked with combined magical and non-magical weaponry and tactics in the past. If there is any expertise that you need, I would be happy to offer it.'

Allard nodded. 'Thank you for your generosity, _Mademoiselle_ … _Fraulein_?'

'Please, Anna is fine. I have never insisted on formality and never will.'

'Thank you, Anna' Allard said appreciatively. 'We will keep in contact?'

Anna nodded. 'Certainly. Good luck with everything.'

* * *

'Do we have the numbers, Rookwood?' the Dark Lord hissed. The twitching body of Lestrange lay on the floor. Nearly a month had passed since the start of martial law in France, and the GBS and secret police had found no sign of Potter, the Mudblood, or any of the other blood-traitors. Worse, the GBS was running low on resources, and the Dark Lord was forced to lift the lockdown, perhaps throwing away his best – and possibly one – chance at catching Potter.

Lestrange had to be punished. The Dark Lord saw Rookwood sneak an anxious glance at the useless twit's pathetic form. _Let him look_ , the Dark Lord thought. It would only increase his devotion and motivation if he saw the results of failing his Lord.

'We will in a week, My Lord,' Rookwood replied in a voice of forced calm. 'We are withdrawing some units away from the Russian border. My Lord…if I may…getting them to swear fealty…that was a brilliant move, My Lord.'

The Dark Lord nodded. 'Yes, Rookwood. I am brilliant. This will, hopefully, deal with the German threat in the west once and for all.'

'What about the other pockets of resistance in Germany, Switzerland, and Italy, My Lord?'

'They are not located in areas that prove immediate danger for us,' the Dark Lord replied dismissively. 'They can be eliminated one-by-one after Russia falls.'

Rookwood nodded. 'Yes, My Lord. I understand. You are right, of course.'

'Be concerned with nothing except giving me the necessary units, Rookwood. Our ultimate victory will hinge on this.'

* * *

Hugo stepped into the beer hall. He was immediately shocked by the sight of the number of people gathered there. Had that many people gotten word in the four days since he had arrived? When they saw him enter, the chatter suddenly fell silent, and Hugo felt perhaps several hundred pairs of eyes bore into him expectantly. Hesitantly, he stepped onto one of the stools, hoping that the owners of the establishment would not kill him for defacing their property.

Hugo took a deep breath. 'You all know why you are here?' he began, not exactly sure of what to say. Whatever Schumacher had said, Hugo was not a born leader. He had no idea how to give a rousing speech that would rally these downtrodden refugees into an army.

'To free our home!' one shouted.

'To liberate _nos frères et sœurs!_ ' another called.

'To exact our revenge!' yet another bellowed.

'To drive out the oppressors!'

'To kill the butchers of the people!'

'And are you here to lead us to do it?' one yelled. There were murmurs of agreement around the room.

Hugo swallowed. He was not much of a leader, but he could not disappoint these people. He had not been cut out to be the salvation that they looked up to, but had he any choice now in the matter?

'If you are looking for a one-man salvation, you should look elsewhere,' Hugo said honestly. The disappointment was immediately evident on some of the faces, yet others appeared even more uplifted. ' _La Patrie_ waits for _us_. Not me, not any one of you. All of us. We will do this together, or not at all.'

To Hugo's great surprise, the room erupted in a roar of cheering. There were claps, whistles of approval, and dignified nodding. He could hear the chants of ' _Vive la France!_ ' and the hummed melody of _La Marseillaise_.

'We are fighting for France,' Hugo felt the need to clarify. 'We are not fighting for Germany, not for Russia. We will fight with them if we need to, but we are fighting for our home, our families, our liberty in the end.'

More shouts of approval. The voices singing _La Marseillaise_ grew louder, and it was now joined by other patriotic songs. The claps were deafening and synchronising powerfully with the rhythm of the national anthem.

'Do you know what they have done to our home?' Hugo continued, now feeling the words come from his heart and roll off his tongue naturally, his hatred for the enslavers and brutalisers of the people driving him. 'They have oppressed us, tortured us, starved us, _murdered_ us. They have built, _in the shadow of the sacred battlefields of Verdun_ , a concentration camp, where they carried out the murders of those opposed to the regime and those whose only crime was their birth!'

The approving din shifted to jeers, the looks of admiration and pride shifted to sneers of disdain and hatred. The sound of the national anthem grew louder, and Hugo could feel the indignation and fury flow through the room.

'Think, those of you who remember!' Hugo cried, letting his detestation of the oppressors fill him. 'During _la Seconde Guerre Mondiale_ , did our forefathers not fight against the same tyranny and brutality? It was off of their blood and sweat that the country we loved was born! And now, when it is our turn to take up arms against the same spectre in a different form, do we remain silent? Do we allow the continued murder of those who speak out against Voldemort, those who are deemed subhuman because of their birth?'

'No!' was the deafening answer from the crowd.

'Our erstwhile leaders have abandoned us,' Hugo sneered. His expression was reflected by those in the crowd. 'They have cowardly run for their own lives, given up the fight or even moved collaborate with the enemy, not caring for the safety of the people that they were supposed to protect! They have failed us! And where does that leave us?'

'To fight for our own destiny!' roared someone in the crowd. 'To take up arms and battle back the tyrants ourselves!'

'France can still stand!' Hugo exclaimed to the cheering mass, truly believing every word he was saying. 'Look around you. Our comrades in Germany are holding on, driving the murderers and slavers away from their homes. In Russia, those who stand against Voldemort's brand of tyranny are fighting valiantly against those so wish to impose it upon their motherland. In France, even after all her trials and tribulations, the resistance still stands! We work as hard as we can to save lives, perhaps those of many of you standing here! We are not a subjugated people! We are not defeated, no matter what others may think!'

One member of the crowd began to sing. ' _Ami, entends-tu le vol noir des corbeaux sur nos plaines ?_ '

' _Ami, entends-tu les cris sourds du pays qu'on enchaîne ?_ ' Hugo picked up the next line of the partisan song.

' _Ohé, partisans, ouvriers et paysans c'est l'alarme,_ ' the entire crowd all sang together. ' _Ce soir l'ennemi connaîtra le prix du sang et des l'armes…_ '

The singing grew so loud that Hugo's ears began to hurt. A small part of him almost feared that the roof was going to come down from the noise. But that was all put in the back of his mind. In his heart surged a powerful love for his people, his country, and a sense of hope that was new and old at the same time, almost as if it had been reborn like a phoenix from the ashes.

' _Ici chacun sait ce qu'il veut, ce qu'il fait quand il passe,_

_Ami, si tu tombes, un ami sort de l'ombre à ta place._

_Demain du sang noir séchera au grand soleil sur les routes,_

_Chantez, compagnons, dans la nuit la liberté nous écoute…_ '

Suddenly, Hugo remembered something that he had seen in his history textbook a long time ago. He did not need to think of the nuances of its meaning. It simply felt so right, so fitting, and so appropriate for this exact moment.

'France has lost battles, yes,' he proclaimed. 'But France has not, and will never, lose the war!'

Hugo found in the cheering and roars of approval that he no longer needed to hope that the France that he had once known and loved would return. He now knew that it will. It was now only a question of when, and at what price.

* * *

After their initial reunion, Allard had all but vanished from sight. Anna had told them that he had been busy training and raising a 'Free French' army, and apparently, Allard had asked for her help on several occasions. He himself, however, remained elusive, to Harry, at least.

A full week had passed since the day that they had met in the _Generalleutnant_ 's office when Anna passed on to Harry, Hermione, Neville, and Daphne an invitation to see their training in action. The foursome gladly accepted.

'How big is this "army" that he's raising?' Daphne inquired. Harry could almost see the gears turning behind her eyes, no doubt moving chess pieces in her 'grand scheme' of things.

'A thousand or so right now,' Anna answered. 'But the ranks keep swelling. At the rate it's been growing, it will reach two thousand by the end of the week.'

'And what about the "leaders"?' Harry asked. 'Have they made an…appearance?'

Anna shook her head. 'No. They either don't know, or more likely, don't care. Hugo says he's better off not dealing with them for now.'

Later that afternoon, Anna's squad apparated the four of them to a field a little way outside of the city. At first, it looked like any ordinary field, but Anna gestured for them to step forward. Harry took a half step and felt a wave of magic sweep over him. All of a sudden, he could see perhaps hundreds of people gathered on the field behind what must have been Disillusionment Charms. There were crackles of gunfire, shouts of incantations, and lights coming from curses.

'Hugo's building a veritable foreign legion,' Anna said. 'When refugees from other countries started hearing about the "Free French army", they demanded to be allowed to join.'

Erich snorted. 'And Schumacher did not want them to fight at all. He would be eating his words if he saw this, if he is not already.'

Anna pointed at one side of the field. 'Those are the magicals. They are behind a Disillusionment Charm so that most of the non-magicals do not see what they are doing. Our unit is in charge of training them, although people from a few other units help out, too.' She pointed to the other side. 'Those are the non-magicals. They are being trained by operatives from the special brigades. Most of them were former members of the _Bundespolizei_ or _Bundeswehr_ special forces.'

'And there, in the middle. We are training select soldiers from the magical and non-magical sides to work together.'

Harry craned his neck. He could see several dozen soldiers armed with wands and assault rifles being directed by several wizard and muggle soldiers. Their movements were a little stiff, but they were already working together to an impressively fluent degree.

'And you have weapons to arm all of them?' Hermione asked, sounding a little surprised.

'Not all of them yet,' Anna replied. 'We have exhausted our entire stock of East German weapons, and the numbers keep growing. We are importing more from Russia and the Middle East, but those obviously take time to get here, and risk being seized. So it's a bit of a waiting game.'

Anna led them towards a drab tent near the middle of the field. Several people were sitting inside, hunched over papers. Harry recognised Hugo and a woman that he vaguely remembered as being a member of Anna's squad. The rest, however, were complete strangers to him.

Hugo looked up and broke into a concealed grin. ' _Messieurs et Mesdemoiselles_ ,' he greeted. 'Good afternoon.'

'Good afternoon,' Harry replied. There was a round of handshaking as pleasantries were exchanged.

'You have not met the others, right?' Hugo asked. The foursome all shook their heads.

'Then, let us get acquainted.' Hugo gestured to a tall, skinny, and clean-shaven man with dark brown hair. 'This is Raul Noriega. Spaniard. He approached me about two days after the creation of this unit, wanting the Spanish to be included.'

Noriega rose from his chair. 'Mister Harry Potter, yes?' he asked, sticking out his hand. Harry nodded, subconsciously wanting to cover his scar with his hair. 'An honour to meet you, most certainly.'

'An honour to meet you, too,' Harry replied.

'This must be Miss Hermione Granger, of course,' Noriega said, shaking Hermione's hand. 'Well met.'

'And who is this young lady?' Noriega asked, looking towards Daphne. Harry saw out of the corner of his eye Neville shift by a little bit so that he was positioned protectively in front of her. Noriega did not seem to notice, or if he did, did not show any signs of having noticed it.

'Daphne Greengrass, good to meet you.'

Noriega smiled a little and, finally, turned to Neville. 'And I will guess that you are Neville Longbottom?'

Neville nodded, trying to smile but not quite wiping the frown off his face. 'Yes, sir.'

Noriega again did not seem to mind and shook his hand as if nothing were wrong. He turned back and made his way back to his chair, bumping into a table and knocking over a cup of water along the way.

'Raul, you need to sleep more,' Anna chided. Noriega chuckled a little, rolled his eyes at her, and sat down.

Allard next introduced them to a man named Enzo, from Italy, and an emaciated-looking Pole, Pawel, who did not speak much English and relied on Allard to translate from French.

'Anna has given you a tour, yes?' Hugo asked when the 'meet-and-greet' was over.

The four of them nodded. 'It's impressive,' Daphne commented. 'The numbers that you have, how fast you've been able to train them.'

Allard chuckled darkly. 'They are motivated, that is all. They all know that they are fighting to liberate France. And their own countries, in the case of the others.'

'What can we do to help?' Hermione asked immediately.

Hugo shrugged. 'You are doing enough by being a motivation, a symbol to rally around…I cannot ask more of you. Especially after what I had asked of you in France…'

'We want to do more,' Harry shot back. 'If we aren't out there right now directly fighting Voldemort, then we want to be training others so they could do the same in the future. We were happy to help you in France, and we will be more than happy to help you here.'

Hugo looked unsure, but it was Noriega who spoke up. 'They want to help you, Hugo, then why not let them?' he posited. 'It would be four more hands on deck, and more motivation for the magical forces to boot.'

'Trust me, Hugo, the four of these know what they're doing,' Anna said. 'We might not be alive, even, without them.'

Harry felt himself blush and opened his mouth to protest Anna's unnecessary praise, but Hugo spoke up, interrupting him.

'You are both right,' he decided. 'My intention was not to doubt them, Anna. I have seen their talents myself, and they are quite impressive.' He turned to the foursome and started towards the tent entrance. 'If you are sure, then, _Messieurs et Mesdemoiselles_ , follow me.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to maschl for all his help with almost every aspect of this story. Thank you to W H Rutledge for his beta work. Additionally, this chapter is dedicated to NoirWolf5 for reasons.
> 
> Translations: The song that the French sing in the beer hall is called Le Chant des partisans.
> 
> From German – Anna and the secretary:
> 
> 'Good morning, Brigadier General,' the man greeted Anna quite politely.
> 
> 'Good morning, Mister Jäger,' Anna replied, inclining her head. 'Is the Lieutenant General in?'
> 
> The secretary shook his head. 'He's talking with someone. A Frenchman, I think. They were arguing loudly in French.'
> 
> 'I also need to speak with the Frenchman. Would you please ask the Lieutenant General if I can come in?'
> 
> 'I will let him know that you are here.' The secretary rose and knocked on Schumacher's door. A few moments later, he gestured them in.
> 
> From French – Hugo arguing with Schumacher:
> 
> 'You know them?' Schumacher asked, sounding surprised.
> 
> 'I've already told you that I know them,' Allard replied snappishly. 'I do not understand why you let them fight for you and not us!'
> 
> 'I understand that you were a leader of the resistance – '
> 
> 'I'm not a [swear] leader!' Allard snarled. 'If the politicians and leaders who were hiding here were not such imbeciles, I would never have had to become a "leader"!'
> 
> From German – Anna and Schumacher:
> 
> 'He helped Harry Potter cross France safely. Without him, he would not even be here. Could you, Lieutenant General, really doubt his dedication to the cause?'
> 
> Schumacher sighed. 'It is not him, but the others.'
> 
> Anna furrowed her brow. 'Don't you think he can tell the trustworthy from the untrustworthy?'
> 
> 'But – '
> 
> 'He wants to liberate his own damned country! Who are you to say he cannot do that?'
> 
> 'He wants to fight for us…'
> 
> 'To liberate his own country!'
> 
> From French – Hugo and Schumacher, Part 2:
> 
> 'You can fight with us, then,' Schumacher relented, turning to Alllard. 'I…I will put the word out that you are recruiting…'
> 
> Allard swallowed and nodded. 'Thank you, general. And what about those from other countries?'
> 
> Schumacher sighed. 'If you want to form a foreign legion…that's your choice…I will help you…'
> 
> 'And the politicians?'
> 
> Schumacher sighed again. 'I will give you a list…of the names…'


	18. XVII: Lightning

Harry watched as Hugo's army ran drills on the training grounds. The 'combined arms' units were already moving with a sort of skill and agility that Harry thought would make their German trainers jealous. Accurate spell fire was combined with deadly accurate bursts of machine gun and rifle fire. The dummies that Anna's unit had conjured as training targets were being riddled with holes, disintegrated, or blown to pieces as the soldiers were run through their paces.

The foursome had returned to the training field every day for the last week, but they had ever increasingly been relegated in their role, and they were now no more than observers. Harry did not think that was a bad thing, though. If Hugo's army was growing past the point where their skills were enough to train them, then that was certainly a victory.

The drill finished, and the soldiers marched off towards the rest station. Hugo was standing there, and he shook each of their hands in turn, no doubt thanking them for their service or imploring to train harder. Despite all that Hugo had vented about how he was not leadership material, Harry thought that he had taken up the mantle quite well. Certainly a far better leader than he had ever been.

'Water?' Hermione asked, tapping his shoulder from behind, making Harry jump. He spun around on his heels. Hermione was looking at him with an amused smile. Her face bore a slight tan from standing out under the sun every day, and Harry was glad to see the colourless countenance of old disappear for good.

'Uh…yeah…thanks,' Harry said awkwardly, accepting the cup and gulping it down, spilling a little over his chin. Hermione snorted at his misfortune, which Harry answered with a teasing glare.

'You don't ever change, do you?' Hermione chortled.

'Shut up.'

Hugo beckoned Neville over to help him with a group of soldiers. Harry and Hermione made their way over towards Daphne, who was talking to Raul and looking mixed parts uncomfortable and amused. Neville caught sight of this and turned to glare daggers at Raul, who simply shrugged amusedly and carried on saying whatever he was saying.

When Harry got within earshot of the two, he immediately understood Daphne's discomfort. Raul was flirting with her using the most awful pick-up lines imaginable. They were so cringe-inducing that Harry thought Raul could not possibly be being serious.

'Have you been covered in bees recently? I just assumed, since you look sweeter than honey,' Raul was saying. Harry wanted to cut his ears off at the cheesiness of the statement.

'If you were a vegetable,' he continued. 'You would be a cute-cumber.'

Daphne looked like she wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. She saw Harry and Hermione coming and shot them an exasperated look. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Neville's eyes flit between the soldier that he was supposed to be helping and Raul, his face contorted in a scowl.

'Your eyes are bluer than the ocean,' Raul said. 'And I don't mind being lost at sea.'

'Okay, okay, that's enough,' Daphne interrupted. 'My eyes aren't even blue, dammit.'

Raul barked a laugh. 'Blue…grey…what's the difference?'

'The difference is that if you must use these terrible pick-up lines, you should at least get the facts right.'

Neville now looked like he had Killing Curses shooting out of his eyes as he glared at Raul, all thoughts of helping the recruit cast aside. His wand hand was twitching, and Harry thought that he was contemplating what curse he could use that would cause Raul the most pain.

'Raul, why don't you go help out Hugo?' Hermione stepped in, saving the man's life. 'He looks like he could use some more assistance.

Raul, thankfully, understood Hermione's veiled meaning and walked off towards Hugo, leaving Daphne to breathe a huge sigh of relief.

'That was painful to listen to,' she whispered. 'I know he wasn't being serious…but…Merlin's beard…'

'Neville looked like he wanted to murder him,' Harry said, mentally slapping himself immediately thereafter for letting it slip out.

'Oh…uh…well…I guess…yeah,' Daphne stammered, turning bright pink and staring down at her shoes.

Hermione cleared her throat. 'Uh…well, the weather's nice today, isn't it?'

'Yeah, it is,' Daphne agreed immediately. 'The sun is…uh…shining and it's spring and…'

Harry looked up at the sky. It was not too nice. The sun was hidden behind an overcast layer of grey clouds and certainly not shining. And considering that it was late September, it was most certainly not spring.

'Their training is going well, isn't it?' Daphne said through the awkward silence. 'They've improved a lot.'

Harry nodded, perhaps a little more emphatically than he usually would. 'They're motivated, I mean…wouldn't you be if you were them?'

'Yeah, I would, yeah.'

Harry turned towards the soldiers. Neville, Hugo, and Raul were showing a group of magical soldiers how to cast combat spell chains. Neville's attention was split between shooting death glares at Raul and working with Hugo. One of his Stunning Spells missed one of the watching soldiers by a hair.

Hugo exchanged a few words with Neville. Neville nodded, pocketed his wand, and turned back towards Harry, Hermione, and Daphne. He started back, stomping so that each of his steps made a heavy thud against the ground.

'All right, Neville?' Harry called.

Hermione pinched him on the bum. Harry narrowed her eyes at her. 'What?' he hissed.

'Isn't it obvious?' she breathed back. Harry looked at her sheepishly as a loud huff announced Neville's arrival.

'Can you believe him? Doesn't he have better things to do?' he complained. 'He could be like…I don't know…helping with training?'

Harry bit back a comment that Raul had been doing exactly that as Neville paced in a circle, muttering abuses against Raul under his breath. It seemed to make him feel better, and a small part of Harry felt oddly glad that these days, Neville even _could_ dwell on these things.

Neville calmed down and his rant died. 'Let's go back to the tent,' he said, shooting one last look of distaste in Raul's direction. 'Anna's probably waiting for us.'

None of the others objected as Neville stalked moodily towards the command tent. Harry noticed that Daphne had an odd sort of expression on her face, somewhere between annoyance at Neville's antics and a sort of…glee? Harry shot a questioning look at Hermione, but she simply shrugged in reply, perhaps not understanding his inquiry or perhaps not wanting to answer.

'You're done?' Anna asked in surprise as they entered through the tent flaps.

'Pretty much,' Neville muttered. 'There wasn't a ton to do, anyway.'

'There really is not,' Anna agreed. 'Hugo and Raul have it all pretty much under control.'

At the mention of Raul's name, a flash of something menacing came across Neville's face, but he quickly suppressed it. 'Yeah, they're doing pretty well.'

'You're free to go, then,' Anna said.

'You don't need us for anything else?' Neville asked, sounding a little surprised.

Anna shrugged. 'Well, you said you were done, did you not?' Neville nodded. 'Then you can go. If there is anything we need, I can come and get you. Or Hugo or Raul can.'

Neville looked as if steam were about to come pouring out of his ears.

* * *

Anna rushed towards the interrogation centre. It had been less than an hour since Harry and company had left when she had been called on short notice to interrogate a suspicious new arrival. She tore past a group of soldiers, accidentally knocking one off balance. She shouted an apology and continued sprinting, skidding to a stop just in front of the interrogation centre guard.

' _Guten Tag, Brigadegeneral._ '

' _Guten Tag, Unteroffizer_ ,' Anna said, panting. 'Who do you need me to interview?'

'The one on the right is Solovyov,' the guard said, gesturing at two men sitting along the back wall. 'Russian, but seems to speak German and some English. The one on the left gave his name as Martin and says he's French, but speaks the language with an obvious accent.'

'Seems a little suspicious to me,' Anna murmured.

The guard grunted his agreement. 'Well, that's what the interrogations are for, _Brigadegeneral_.'

'Both are magical?'

'They had wands.'

Anna nodded and turned to the new arrivals. The two could not be more different. Solovyov was an older man who had a gaunt, emaciated look to him. His eyes were hollow and empty. Martin, meanwhile, looked to be in his forties at most, and appeared fit and reasonably well-fed. Both were wearing prisoner uniforms, but Martin's seemed almost artificially worn down with clumsy magic. That further added to Anna's suspicion of the man.

' _Herr Solovyov_ ,' Anna said. The Russian stood up. 'Come with me, please.'

Anna entered one of the interview rooms and switched on the lights. The sudden increase in brightness was blinding, and she could see Solovyov shielding his eyes behind him.

Anna turned around. 'I am Anna von Hartmann,' she said, extending a hand.

Solovyov shook it limply. 'Aleksandr Vladimirovich Solovyov, _Frau General_.'

Anna gave a small smile and pulled out one of the armchairs. 'Please take a seat, _Herr Solovyov_.'

Solovyov sat down, and Anna took the seat opposite him. She reached underneath the table and poured a small glass of potion-laced water from a pitcher and slid it across to him. 'Please drink.'

'This is water?' Solovyov asked hoarsely.

Anna nodded impassively. It was not an untruth, but she still felt a small measure of guilt 'lying' to the man, who looked as if he had suffered more than Anna could ever even begin to imagine. Solovyov gave the glass one more wary look, then lifted it a little shakily and drank.

As if it were possible, the man's eyes grew even more blank. Anna felt a small shiver go down her spine at the sight. She ignored it and produced a blank file and a biro. The interview needed to go on.

'Your name?'

'Aleksandr Vladimirovich Solovyov.'

'Country of origin?'

'Russia.'

'Where did you come from?'

'France.'

Anna swallowed, understanding immediately the man's emaciated state. 'Why were you in France? And how did you get there?' she asked.

'I was kidnapped from my home in Saint Petersburg by Yezhovskiy's loyalists and handed over to Voldemort,' Solovyov replied. Anna felt cold sweat begin to pool on her back. 'They tortured me for information and for being a "blood-traitor". When I refused to give them information, they put me into a camp with other political prisoners from Eastern Europe.'

Anna felt a surge of euphoria flow over her. The attack on the concentration camp had helped at least someone. The man sitting in front of her was now free and alive thanks to their actions.

'Why were you targeted for kidnapping?' Anna pressed. It was not strictly one of the interview questions, but she felt a curious desire for information. 'What were you back in Russia?'

'I was Dmitriy Artyomovich Sukhoi's deputy,' Solovyov replied. 'He was the Head of the Bureau of Security. He was toppled by Yezhovskiy's followers and had to flee Saint Petersburg. I was going to leave, too, but the day before I was to set out for Alma-Ata, they took me from my home.'

'And you have been in the camp ever since,' Anna breathed.

'Yes. I have been there for around five months. Nowhere near as long as some of the others. Some have been incarcerated for more than a year already.'

'Where is this Dmitriy Sukhoi?'

Solovyov gave a small shrug. 'Last I heard, he had set out for Moscow. As for where he is now, I have no idea.'

Anna nodded, satisfied. She poured a glass of water from another pitcher and slid it across. Solovyov drank it and came to at once, looking alarmed.

'You are the German resistance?' he demanded.

Anna was confused. 'Yes…we are…why do you ask?'

'I just gave out sensitive information,' Solovyov said. ' _Blyad!_ I could have gotten Dima killed – '

'This information is secure,' Anna assured. 'The only person this will go to is Schumacher. He is the commander in charge of the operations here. No one besides you, him, and I will know.'

Solovyov calmed down a little at that. 'You support our cause, then?'

'If your cause is against Voldemort, then yes, we do.'

'Yes, of course it is,' Solovyov affirmed at once. 'Are there any other Russians here?'

'I don't know,' Anna replied sadly. 'There are several Poles, I think. I am not responsible for interviewing everyone, so I cannot give you an answer.'

Solovyov looked around. 'Is this your base?'

'It's a forward base,' Anna answered. 'We are based out of the city of Trier. I will bring you there by train once I am done here.'

'Are we done, then?'

'I have asked all I needed to ask,' Anna said. 'You can wait outside in the waiting room. I have one more to interview.'

'That Martin?' Solovyov asked. Anna nodded. 'I felt something odd from him, like he had something to hide.'

Anna nodded impassively. 'He does appear a little suspicious, yes. We will see. You can wait for me outside. It should take no more than twenty minutes.'

Solovyov rose and walked towards the door, staggering a little as he went. Anna went to help him, but he shook her off, insisting on returning on his own. Anna followed him out and waited until the man had sat down before she called the suspicious Frenchman.

'Mister Martin!'

Martin rose from his chair, seeming to wobble a little as he did so. He wore a forced emotionless and blank expression on his face, but Anna could see something malignant, or at least concealing, in his eyes.

Anna stuck out her hand anyway, intending to be polite. 'Anna von Hartmann.'

Martin gave her hand a half-shake and dropped it immediately thereafter. 'Martin,' he grunted.

'Is that your full name?'

The man looked at her for a long moment. 'Pierre Martin,' he replied finally.

Anna nodded, feeling her eyes narrow involuntarily. 'Please take a seat, Mister Martin.'

Martin gave Anna an inscrutable look, shuffled over to the chair and sat down stiffly. Anna took the seat across from him and reached under the table, pouring another cup of potion-laced water. He slid it over to him. 'Please drink.'

'What is?' Martin asked.

'Water.'

'I do not need.'

'Please drink,' Anna pressed, having met her share of unwilling subjects and not feeling too concerned. 'This is a part of the procedure.'

'I refuse.'

'If you refuse, then you will be sent away out of our territories,' Anna threatened. 'If you would like to stay here, you must follow our procedures.'

'I will not drink.'

'Then would you like to be sent away?'

'No.'

'Then you must conform to our rules,' Anna snapped. 'It is not hard to understand why they are required.'

'I refuse.'

'If you have nothing to hide, then the interview will reveal nothing incriminating.'

'I do not want to be interviewed.'

Discreetly, Anna slid her wand out of her pocket. The man's eyes widened in realisation and his hand shot towards his own pocket. But he was not fast enough.

' _Imperio!_ ' Martin's eyes glazed over and his face fell slack. Anna ordered him to drink the potion-laced water, and he did so dutifully.

'Are you armed?' she demanded.

'Yes,' the man answered blankly. Anna instructed him to turn over his weapons, and he reached into his right pocket, taking out a short wand. Anna grabbed it and stuffed it in her own pocket, confiscating it.

'Did you know that not turning over all your weapons upon entry is a criminal offence?'

'I did.'

'Who the hell are you?' Anna asked, feeling overwhelmed by a mixture of confusion, anger, and suspicion. 'What is your name?'

'Fulcran Lestrange.'

'Lestrange?' Anna gasped. A chill fell over the room more unsettling than that of any dementor. 'What are you doing here?'

'The Dark Lord ordered me to spy.'

'Why?' Anna pressed. 'Why did he order you to spy? And on what?'

'He is planning an attack,' Lestrange replied. 'He wanted me to pass back information on troop movements and defences in real time during it.'

'And he wants to use your information to direct his attack, I presume?' Anna demanded. 'Or perhaps, he wished for you to perform acts of sabotage?'

'Both,' Lestrange answered. 'I was to destroy the rail lines and blow up the resistance headquarters before he began his attack.'

'What other missions do you have?'

Lestrange nodded. 'He wanted me to keep an eye out for Potter and seize him if I ever saw him and bring him to the Dark Lord. I was also to lay low and wait for any other orders. He would have sent messages through the Dark Mark.'

'And when is this attack?' Anna interrogated shakily.

'I do not know. It will be soon, however. Within the week.'

Anna's fingertips felt cold and numb as she poured the truth serum antidote and forced it down the spy's throat. She lifted the Imperius Curse, then immediately placed a Full Body Bind on him. The Death Eater's eyes widened as he realised what had happened.

'There is a reason your idiot Dark Lord has never succeeded in sneaking a spy into our ranks,' Anna snapped, feeling a sort of vindictive triumph. 'You have just seen it in action. What do you think?'

The man's pupils constricted in disgust. Anna smirked savagely and reached into her pocket, removed the spy's wand, and held it up.

'Not surrendering all your weapons at the checkpoint is an offence punishable by deportation,' she said. In one motion, she snapped the wand and threw it on the ground. 'Spying and espionage, meanwhile…that is punishable by the firing squad. Do you know what that is?'

If the man could move his facial muscles, he would have contorted his face into a sneer. Anna briefly considered perhaps sparing the man, keeping him under the Imperius to feed Voldemort false information, but decided against it. She could not afford the possibility, unlikely as it may be, of an active Death Eater overcoming her Imperius Curse and resuming his mission.

'I will take that as a "no",' Anna replied. She picked up the file that had recorded Lestrange's answers. 'I am the highest-ranking magical officer here. As your offence is magical and military in nature, this falls under my authority. Well, Mister _Lestrange_ , you are charged with failure to surrender arms, allegiance to Voldemort, spying, espionage, and intention to sabotage. You are sentenced to death.'

Lestrange's eyes widened as Anna re-cast the Imperius Curse and undid the Body Bind. She ordered him to stand up, and he obeyed immediately. She wrenched open the door and grabbed Lestrange by the collar, dragging him out into the waiting room and towards the entrance. As she passed Solovyov, he gave her a shocked look, to which she grimaced in reply.

'He is a spy,' Anna told the guard with a sneer. 'He admitted to espionage under Truth Serum. He is working for Voldemort. Shoot him.'

The guard nodded and hurried away. He returned several minutes later with an impromptu firing squad consisting of five soldiers, including himself. Anna handed the spy over to the Lieutenant, who tied him to a telephone pole with a length of rope. When he was secured and the firing squad lined up, Anna lifted the Imperius Curse.

Lestrange immediately sneered at all of them. 'Mudbloods and muggle scum! You cannot kill me! The Dark Lord will have his revenge – '

'Fire!' Anna barked, tired of the Death Eater's waffling. The soldiers each fired a short burst, aiming directly at the man's chest. Lestrange gave a girlish yelp as the bullets hit him, then he slumped over, his chest peppered with holes like cheese, deep red blood staining his clothes.

* * *

Anna charged into Schumacher's office, bypassing the confused secretary. She threw open the door with a bang, and the _Generalleutnant_ looked up, a taken-aback expression on his face.

'What is going on, _Brigadegeneral_?' he demanded, his face reddening. 'You cannot just charge in here and – '

'Voldemort!' Anna yelled, out of breath. 'He's planning an attack!'

Schumacher sat upright, the expression of anger wiped off at once. ' _What?_ '

'Voldemort is planning an attack!' Anna repeated. 'On us!'

'How do you know? And when? Where?'

'We caught a spy at the Irrel checkpoint,' Anna explained. 'He was a high-ranking Death Eater, working directly for Voldemort. He was sent to spy on our troop movements and defences. He was also supposed to destroy rail lines and this building. Apparently, this was supposed to be in conjunction with a full-scale attack.'

'When? From where?'

'He did not know precisely,' Anna replied. 'But it was supposed to be within the week. And I don't know where he's planning to attack from.'

Schumacher swallowed and reached into one of his drawers. From its depths, he withdrew a large, rolled-up map and spread it out on the table.

'We're here,' Schumacher said, jabbing a finger at the map. Anna leaned forward to look. 'He will certainly attempt to attack the city – knock out the capital and decapitate the enemy, the old wisdom says. The question is, from where?'

'He could attack from the north, across the plains and turn east into the river valley,' Anna suggested.

'In which case he would run right into our defences,' Schumacher said. 'He has sent reasonably large-scale attacks against us in the past. They have always been blunted easily by the _Westwall_. Is he stupid enough to think that numbers will be the sole determiner of victory?'

'The south is suicide,' he continued. 'Conventional troops stand no chance of victory fighting across the hills against an entrenched enemy. I doubt a magical attack would be much more successful. A direct attack from the north is the same story. Attacking upriver from the west will run right into our defences.'

'What about the east?' Anna posited.

'Highly unlikely,' Schumacher said. 'They will have to traverse through chains and chains of hills before they even arrive at the border. And once there, they would simply be funnelled up the Mosel valley.'

'However unlikely, what if they _do_ end up doing that exact thing?'

Schumacher shook his head. 'They could not possibly bring heavy mechanised divisions through the hills. So what would they end up attacking with? Infantry? They will simply be mowed down by machine-gun fire. Helicopters and aircraft we can easily deal with, and we handle whatever magical forces he brings.'

'Mechanised forces could be transported by magic,' Anna pointed out. 'Some kind of Portkey, maybe…'

'Does such a thing exist?' Schumacher asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Anna swallowed. 'A Portkey that transports inanimate objects? I don't know of anything like that. But that's completely different from them _not existing_.'

'But how _likely_ is it that Voldemort has access to such a…technology?'

Anna sighed. 'That's a question that's impossible to answer. There are things that we thought were impossible, but then somehow, Voldemort ends up achieving them anyway, aren't there?'

'Between him having a means to transport heavy equipment _and_ letting non-magical troops use it, or him simply choosing a more realistic attack vector, what is more likely?'

Anna shrugged. 'The latter, obviously. But why is he choosing this specific time to attack, when he could have done so at any other time? He obviously believes he could win this time, or else would he not have bidden his time instead?'

'We do not have the forces to cover every possible direction of attack equally,' Schumacher said slightly impatiently. 'I am asking you, what do _you_ think is more likely, and against what should we spend more of our resources defending against.'

'An attack from the west,' Anna replied immediately. 'But I don't think we should neglect the east, either. I would not put it past Voldemort to attempt something from there.'

Schumacher looked at her for a long minute, thinking. 'What is the state of the French forces?'

'They are about four thousand,' Anna answered. 'When you factor in the Spanish, Italians, Poles, and the other "foreign" battalions. That's nearly a fifty percent boost to the numbers that we have.'

'But are they well-trained?' Schumacher asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Anna sighed. 'They could certainly be…better…I suppose. But all soldiers can be,' she replied carefully. 'Most of the combined units work well together. The magical units are getting there, but they are not quite as…combat ready…as our own troops. As for the non-magical units…'

'Yes?'

'Understand that there are far more of them for us to train,' Anna qualified. 'They are obviously better than the average citizen with a Kalashnikov, but they are not anywhere as good as our regular units.'

'So if we use them to cover the eastern approaches, then we can free the rest of our manpower to defend the west and north?'

'They would probably not be too happy guarding the least likely avenue of attack…' Anna murmured.

Schumacher raised an eyebrow. 'Do you suggest that we put our own troops, who are far better-trained by your own admission, in the east to face an attack that probably would not come, and move less battle-ready troops to the likely front line?'

Anna shook her head. 'That's not what I'm saying, but…they are itching for action and would not take too kindly to being relegated.'

'I am not here to entertain and foster the patriotic tendencies of Frenchmen and Spaniards, _Brigadegeneral von Hartmann_ ,' Schumacher said sternly. 'I am here to protect our city and our people.'

'I am not saying you should,' Anna shot back. 'Only that, perhaps, you should allow some of their better trained units to see action. They are on our side, _Generalleutnant_. Should we not at least show that we have faith in them and their abilities?'

'Do they have units that match our units' capabilities?' Schumacher asked sceptically. 'If they do, then I would have no objection to placing them on the front line.'

'As I have said, their combined units are almost as good as ours,' Anna replied immediately. 'There are ten of them, six of them which I would consider well-trained. They have been picked from the best on both the magical and non-magical sides. They can more than hold their own in a fight.'

Schumacher nodded slowly. 'Let's say we take the six. Have the soldiers have been carefully vetted? Are they trustworthy? Are we certain that – '

'Hugo personally oversees the selection process, _Generalleutnant_ ,' Anna said impatiently. 'We have been through this already. They conduct a second Truth Serum interrogation for the magical soldiers, and an interrogation under the Imperius Curse for non-magical soldiers. For the combined units, the security is even stricter.'

'What are their total numbers?'

'They are arranged into groups of twenty-one each,' Anna replied. 'So in total, one hundred twenty-six, plus the officer staff, which brings the total to one hundred thirty.'

'These troops are best used on the move, correct?' Anna nodded. 'Then they should be deployed to the north, where they would have more room to manoeuvre on the plains against any sort of armoured attack. We will send three thousand non-magical and one thousand magical troops to the north as second-line defence. The rest of our numbers can remain in the west.'

'And the east?'

'The remaining soldiers from Allard's legion will be positioned along the east,' Schumacher said, taking out a pencil and beginning to mark points and lines on his map. 'They will be supported by some members of the civilian militia, who will be more familiar with the terrain and fortifications.'

The General looked up with a grim expression on his face. 'If the attack is as large-scale as I suspect, we will be looking at heavy losses.'

Anna swallowed hard and nodded.

'Is there any way at all we can gain an advantage over them?' Schumacher asked, a hint of desperation in his voice. 'Is there some sort of magical tactic that you could think of?'

Anna looked at him blankly for a long moment, then shook her head sadly. 'There is little we can do if we are facing an enemy that will be employing their own wizards. We can monitor the alert enchantments, that would at least give us fore warning before the attack begins in earnest. But outside of that…I don't think there is much more we can do.'

Schumacher nodded, looking pale. 'If we have done all we can, then we will face what will come when it comes.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to maschl for all his help with almost every aspect of this story. Thank you to W H Rutledge for his beta work.
> 
> I am sorry for bringing bad news, but I feel that I should be honest with all of you. This story has suffered many setbacks in the last weeks that makes its future uncertain. Currently, this story has been written up to Chapter 29, but with an extreme expansion of the plot as it nears the endgame, I have been having a lot of trouble continuing. Furthermore, the simple nature of this story - the heavy emphasis on O.C.'s and original locations, the non-Harmony focus, and the political nature of the later chapters, which have become far more complex than I had ever anticipated - have eroded my ability and will to continue. I do not know when, or if, this story will be continued, but I think that I have a duty to warn you that this story will likely not be updated beyond Chapter 29 - 12 chapters from now.
> 
> Finally, W H Rutledge has departed the fandom, leaving this story without a beta. In theory, I could beta all my writing myself, but it would be far too time-consuming to fit in my now extremely busy schedule. In other circumstances, I would find someone else willing to beta my story, but this, in combination with the two issues that I had just mentioned, seems to spell doom for this story. Up to Chapter 25 has been beta-ed, and I will certainly continue uploading until then. If I am able to and have time to beta myself, I will continue uploading to Chapter 29. After that, however, uploads will likely cease. I know that this will be disappointing for many of you, and it is certainly disappointing for me to not be able to finish one of my stories, but it is only after careful consideration that I have been forced to come to this conclusion, and I hope that by making this sacrifice and learning from these failures, I will be able to work on better, stronger, and more interesting projects in the future.


	19. XVIII: Schlacht bei Trier

The Dark Lord looked down at the map. 'We are ready, Rookwood?'

Rookwood nodded once firmly, then waved his wand a few times, rearranging the positions of some of the markers. 'As ready as we will ever be, My Lord.'

'What are our total numbers?' the Dark Lord questioned.

'Twenty-five thousand muggles, My Lord,' Rookwood replied. 'Around ten thousand from the various secret police forces and fifteen thousand from the army. They will be supported by two thousand wizards drawn from the SA and GBS and two thousand of your…special soldiers.'

'And what has our spy reported?'

Rookwood swallowed. 'The last contact we had with him was almost a week ago. We have received no word since.'

'When was the last time you contacted him?' the Dark Lord demanded.

'It was the night before he was to begin his infiltration of the resistance base, My Lord.'

'Is he alive?' the Dark Lord hissed.

'We have no evidence to prove that he is dead,' Rookwood answered nervously. 'The information blackout could be due to many reasons…perhaps he couldn't risk sending intelligence without being detected?'

'All he had to do was use his Dark Mark,' the Dark Lord snapped. 'Are you telling me that you suspect that Lestrange was unable to even send a short message through a safe channel?'

'It is unlikely,' Rookwood replied quickly. 'But it is a possibility.'

'There is no reason he should have been stopped,' the Dark Lord muttered to himself. There was truly no conceivable reason known to the Dark Lord. Lestrange had been supplied with a broad-spectrum antidote to truth potions. He had been given prisoner uniforms and instructed to wear them down suitably, to blend in with the stream of refugees no doubt coming from the half-destroyed Philippeville camp. He even spoke French fluently, and could most certainly have passed for a refugee from France.

'Perhaps he will reappear the day of the battle?' Rookwood posited hopefully.

'He had better,' the Dark Lord snapped. The House of Lestrange has already been disgraced beyond belief by Rabastan's recent failures. If Fulcran failed his mission as well…no, it could not possibly have happened. The Lestranges, however weak and incompetent they were, were still pure-bloods. There was no way that the Mudblood counter-revolutionaries could possibly have thwarted his plans.

'But can we go on without the information?' Rookwood asked cautiously. 'If Fulcran has indeed failed his task, Merlin forbid, then we may be attacking blind.'

'Even the highest estimates put their numbers at no more than ten thousand,' the Dark Lord said. 'We have nearly thirty thousand. By numbers alone, we hold a three-to-one advantage. Even if we simply threw the muggle rabble at the counter-revolutionaries with no strategy at all, they will still fall.'

Rookwood nodded. 'We _are_ facing mostly muggles supported by a number of Mudbloods,' he agreed. 'But without the information, we will take heavier losses…'

'The majority of the losses will be taken by the muggles, I am sure,' the Dark Lord replied. 'Their loss is of nil import to us.'

'What of the SA and GBS wizards?'

'Are you suggesting that the pure-bloods – and even half-bloods – of the SA and GBS could possibly fail against Mudbloods and blood-traitors?' the Dark Lord demanded accusingly.

Rookwood swallowed. 'No, I meant no such thing. But…what if they take heavier losses than expected?'

'They will not,' the Dark Lord said confidently. 'Allow me to remind you again that they are facing wizards of subpar breeding, Mudbloods, and muggles at a three-to-one numbers advantage. Our previous attempts at wiping out this pocket were only thwarted because the rabble attacked from cowardly ambushes. This will not be the case this time. It will be a one-sided battle. We shall hold Trier by the end of the night. You will not fail me in your command of the attacking force, Rookwood.'

Rookwood nodded. 'My Lord, I shall assure our victory at any price.'

* * *

Harry paced restlessly about the kitchen, looking for something to do but finding nothing. He had been on edge for the last five days. They had all been on edge. The kitchen had been cleaned from top to bottom more than five times in the last five days, if that was any proof.

Five days. That was how long it had been since Anna had told them about the spy who had confessed to Voldemort planning an attack under interrogation. The man had said that the attack was going to come in the next week. It had been five days.

That meant that the attack was going to take place today or tomorrow.

Daphne stepped into the kitchen. 'Chocolate cake?' Harry immediately asked. 'Or shepherd's pie? Or – '

She held up a hand. 'I'm not saying I don't appreciate it, but you've been feeding us so much we're all going to look like balloons soon.'

'I mean…I have all this food lying around…'

'I understand,' Daphne said. 'But I just came in looking for a cup of water.'

Harry poured her a glass and handed it to her. 'How's Neville?'

'I just changed his stitches,' Daphne replied. 'He's lying down right now. It's rather painful for the first hour after. Where's Hermione?'

'Upstairs, reading,' Harry answered. 'It's her favourite stress relief.'

'More so than you?'

'Shut it,' Harry snapped. 'And you're one to talk. Who the hell knows what you and Neville get up to behind locked doors?'

'Well…it was a…habit…we picked up in our year in hiding…' Daphne murmured, blushing.

Harry raised an eyebrow. 'You admit to it?'

'Didn't you always know?'

Harry chuckled. 'You've never come out and said it so directly.'

Daphne opened her mouth to retort, but at that moment, there was a loud banging on the door. Harry rushed to it, drawing his wand. He heard a thud that must have been Hermione's book falling to the floor, followed by feet stamping down the stairs. Harry swung open the door. On the other side, looking shaken, stood Anna.

'It's happening,' she said the moment the door opened. 'The attack.'

' _What?_ ' Hermione shrieked from behind him. 'When did it start? From where?'

'From the north,' Anna replied shortly. 'They're attacking with tanks. There were helicopters and planes sighted, too.'

'Are there any wizards?' Harry asked.

Anna shook her head. 'None sighted. Yet.'

'When're we going?'

'To do what?'

'To fight, what else? Aren't you fighting?'

Anna sighed, sounding depressed. 'I'm not. I'm stuck in headquarters with the rest of the higher staff.'

Harry's jaw dropped open. 'But…why? Aren't the rest of your unit…'

'Erich is at headquarters with me, but the rest…they are stationed in the north.'

'Can we go fight?' Neville demanded, appearing behind Harry.

'I'm not opposed to it,' Anna replied quickly. 'But I don't know how you can find the front line – '

She was interrupted by her radio giving a beep. Her hand shot to her chest, unclipped the receiver, and flipped a switch. Harry immediately heard frantic, unintelligible shouts in the background, combined with what sounded like explosions and gunfire.

' _Kräfte im Osten gesichtet!_ ' someone shouted through the radio. ' _Neue Kräfte im Osten gesichtet!_ '

Anna's face paled at once. ' _Was meinen Sie mit "neue Kräfte"?_ '

' _Kampfpanzer und Hubschrauber und Tausende von Soldaten!_ ' the man yelled. Harry recognised it as belonging to Raul. ' _Der Norden war nur ein Ablenkungsmanöver, Scheiße. Das hier ist der Hauptangriff!_ '

' _Anna, komm sofort zurück ins Hauptquartier!_ ' a new voice that Harry recognised as Schumacher's spoke.

' _Jawohl_ ,' Anna barked into the radio. She looked back towards Harry with a mortified expression on her face.

'Headquarters. Grab your rifles and come with me now. Don't argue.'

The foursome obeyed, and rushed back inside the house and grabbed their assault rifles. Harry dashed back to where Anna was standing and turned on the spot, apparating into the dark alley next to headquarters. Hermione appeared a second later and immediately grabbed his hand and squeezed tightly. Harry returned the pressure, but his own hand was shaking a little too much to be of much comfort to her.

Anna, Neville, and Daphne arrived moments after, and Anna led them briskly into the headquarters building, the guards only giving a cursory look at her documents.

The inside was pandemonium. Soldiers were running everywhere, assembling in ranks or heading this way and that. Telephones were ringing every other second, and there was so much movement that a dust cloud was beginning to be kicked up. Around a large table off to one side of the room, a group of ten or so people were hunched over large rolls of paper, talking amongst themselves. Anna moved towards them.

' _Erich! Was geht hier vor?_ ' she shouted. 'What is happening?'

One of the men that Harry recognised as Erich turned around and rushed towards them. On his face was a tense expression that barely managed to conceal the panic underneath.

'We are not too sure,' Erich replied, speaking incredibly fast. 'The reports are still coming in from the east. It seemed like Noriega's initial report was right, though. The attack in the north is being routed way too easily for it to be the real thrust.'

'What is our situation like in the east?' Anna demanded.

Erich's face turned grim. 'Poor. The defenders do not have enough heavy weaponry to counter a large assault. And the wizards that are there are not well-trained enough to defeat a massive armoured attack.'

'Are there wizards sighted in the east?'

Erich nodded. 'Yes. They have spotted GBS and SA. They actually seem to be staying behind the muggle armour this time instead of charging ahead into machine-gun fire.'

' _Scheiße_ ,' Anna swore under her breath. She turned to Harry.

'Yes,' Harry replied before she could even open her mouth. 'We will fight.'

Anna swallowed and nodded, turning back to Erich. 'Erich, you stay here. I will go with – '

'No, I will go with them,' Erich said in a tone steeped in finality. 'Don't waste time arguing with me, Anna. You need to stay here. You are the _Brigadegeneral_ and probably more useful here. I will be more useful out there.'

Anna nodded reluctantly. She patted Erich on the back. 'Good luck, all of you,' she choked out before heading away to join the other officers.

'Come,' Erich said concisely. 'We will get you all helmets and vests, then we will go.'

Erich started off an open door on one side of the lobby. When Harry entered, he saw a veritable armoury. There were guns of different types and models, boxes and boxes of ammunition, what appeared to be grenades, and, stacked near the back wall, piles of helmets and bulletproof vests.

'Here,' he said, throwing one of each towards Harry, who caught them in mid-air. 'These have basic Shield Charms on them. They should be able to stop most rifle bullets. But explosions and shrapnel, no guarantees. So be careful.'

'And your rifles, Anna said you had FAL's… _sieben Komma zweiundsechzig Millimeter_ …' he reached up to a shelf and grabbed a heavy tin. 'Bullets for your guns. You can use Doubling Charms, of course, but just in case. We are ready to go.'

They exited back out into the lobby, squeezing their way through all the people moving this way and that. Anna gave them a two-fingered salute as they passed, and they stepped out onto the sidewalk.

'Harry and Hermione, you two come with me first,' Erich ordered. 'Neville, Daphne, I will come back to get you. Wait here for me.'

He held out his hands, and Harry and Hermione grabbed on. Erich turned on the spot and the city streets disappeared.

Harry arrived in an earthwork trench. 'Wands out,' Erich barked. Harry reached for the Elder Wand and readied it in his hand. 'Stay right here. Do not go anywhere without me.'

Erich disapparated, and Harry and Hermione stood back-to-back, on guard for any attack. After a minute that seemed like an hour, Erich returned, bringing Neville and Daphne with him.

'Wands,' Erich said. 'Follow me. If you see anyone in a uniform that is not ours, kill them. Ask questions later.'

Erich charged forward, wand in hand, and Harry followed him, Hermione and the other two close behind. The sounds of battle grew louder as they crept forward, nearing the front lines.

'We are here,' Erich said when they turned left into another nondescript trench. 'There are pillboxes, turrets, concealed artillery, and other positions up ahead, but this is the staging area. We need to figure out where to go.'

Erich grabbed his radio. ' _Wo brauchen Sie die meiste Hilfe?_ ' he shouted into it.

' _Überall!_ ' a voice screamed back a few seconds later.

' _Gibt es einen bestimmten verdammten Ort?_ ' Erich snapped impatiently.

' _Sektor zwanzig im Südosten steht unter schwerem Angriff,_ ' the voice said.' _Panzer und Zauberer!_ '

'Sector twenty,' Erich said, stowing his radio. 'Tanks and wizards. Come on!'

Erich ducked off to the right side of the intersection and ran as fast as he could, keeping his head down. Occasionally, an artillery shell would explode near them, or the flash of a curse would soar over their heads. Harry did not dare to peek past the parapet despite his morbid curiosity, and kept on running as quickly as he could to keep pace.

They stopped perhaps fifty metres away from an array of pillboxes. Harry saw an artillery piece in one of the dugouts to his right. The crew was shouting instructions in French, loading and firing the gun as rapidly as they could, kicking up a huge cloud of dust with each shot.

'Noriega!' Erich yelled. A few seconds later, Raul appeared from around the corner, a pistol in one hand and his wand in another. A rifle was slung over his back.

' _Holzer! Wir sind in Schwierigkeiten!_ ' he yelled. His eyes caught sight of Harry and the foursome. 'They are throwing waves of SA at us, supported by tanks,' he finished in English.

Raul began running towards the front, Erich and the foursome in hot pursuit. 'Have you called the rockets?' Erich asked as they ran.

'Yes!' Raul called back. 'But we were not able to call as much as we needed. They shot through all their ammunition fighting against the diversion attack in the north and had to reload, _mierda_!'

'What about your wizards?'

'The wizards in the combined squad have been trying their best,' Raul answered. 'But there are far too many enemies. Wave after wave of tanks. Worse, two of them have already been killed.'

'Do they have planes up? Helicopters?'

'There were a few of them, but they were all shot down. Surface-to-air missiles took care of the planes and RPGs took out the helicopters.'

They ran for a few more seconds, stopping in a front-line trench. Harry risked a peek over the top. He could see several burning wreckages of tanks and armoured cars. Taking cover behind the wrecks, however, he saw soldiers – both muggle and magical – occasionally peak out and fire off a few rounds, or an orange or green curse.

'Split up!' Erich commanded. 'Daphne, Neville, you go with Noriega to the right. Harry, Hermione, you come with me to the left.'

Erich nodded and gestured Harry and Hermione forward. Harry stopped her before she could follow behind him and planted a needy kiss to her lips.

Harry opened her mouth, but Hermione shook her head. 'I know,' she whispered. 'I do, too.'

The two of them raced after Erich. When they arrived at his position, he had taken up an empty machine-gun dugout. The two soldiers that had previously occupied it were already dead, and their bodies were sprawled unceremoniously against the back of the trench. Harry pulled out his wand on instinct, trying to Disillusion Hermione and himself, but when the Elder Wand touched her forehead, nothing happened.

'That is no use! We have put up anti-Disillusionment enchantments over the city! We have to fight the old-fashioned way!' Erich yelled. 'I will use the machine gun! You two take care of tanks with magic and feed me ammunition when I call for it!'

'Understood!' Hermione shouted her reply. Erich gave a small nod and began opening fire. Up-close, the machine gun made a noise eerily similar to the ripping of cloth. Every several rounds, a bright tracer would rip through the air, marking the trajectory of the round. Erich's fire hit a group of three SA who were distracted by another defensive node, killing them instantly and brutally.

'Tanks, up ahead!' Erich yelled.

Harry levelled his wand, peeking out slightly over the parapet. A group of five or six tanks were driving slowly towards their position. Marching behind them, through the dust cloud that they kicked up, Harry saw soldiers wearing uniforms of both the magical and muggle forces.

'Wait until the tanks near,' Erich instructed. 'Do not reveal your position until you know for sure you can land an accurate shot.'

Harry laid low for a tense minute, watching as the tanks approached, occasionally firing their main guns at a bunker or a foxhole. With every shot that the tanks fired, Harry felt his stomach twist. Someone could have died, and Harry was doing nothing to save them.

'Attack!' Erich shouted.

Harry and Hermione raised their wands. 'The one in the middle!' Harry yelled. He took careful aim. ' _Reducto! Reducto!_ '

' _Reducto!_ ' Hermione shouted in unison. ' _Confringo! Confringo!_ '

Harry watched as the curses flew. The first tank's driver saw the flashes of incoming light way too late. He tried to manoeuvre his tank out of the way, but only managed to shift his vehicle by a few degrees before it was hit. The Reductor Curses hit the tank on the side of its chassis, opening a large hole. The Blasting Curses sailed through and exploded, detonating the tank's ammunition magazine alongside. The tank exploded in a huge fireball, and Harry saw the gruesome sight of some of the soldiers who were taking cover behind it fly through the air.

More curses were flying towards the attackers now, emboldened by the first victory. Some were blocked by timely Shields cast by the wizard soldiers, but others struck the tanks or the trailing soldiers. Three more tanks exploded, taking their crew and dozens of other soldiers with them. Harry and Hermione fired off another sequence of curses, managing to score a hit on the final tank, setting the vehicle on fire. The crew scrambled to escape the stricken vehicle, but Erich cut them down with an accurate volley of machine-gun fire.

'Good shooting!' Erich complimented. The still-surviving Imperial Army soldiers began fleeing, running from the battlefield as fast as they could. The GBS, however, were tolerating none of it. They turned around towards their own retreating forces, ignoring the defenders, and began firing Killing Curses and an ominous orange curse at the muggle soldiers. One by one, they all fell.

'Those…bastards!' Hermione snarled. 'They'd kill their own men just for retreating from a hopeless battle?'

'You know what non-magical people mean to them,' Erich growled. 'It does not matter to them that they are supposed to be their allies. They are scum. If they were not trying to kill us, I would almost feel sorry for them.'

Erich fired another few bursts from his machine gun, almost in anger, cutting down several of the wizards murdering their muggle counterparts. Machine gun and rocket fire from other positions joined in, and the slaughterers were torn to pieces in a cloud of dust and blood.

'Serves them right,' Erich grunted as the fighting temporarily ebbed. 'Whenever we capture one of them – SA, GBS, it does not matter – we interrogate them and shoot them on the spot. Those swine do not deserve to live.'

'What about the muggle soldiers?' Hermione asked.

'It depends on who. The secret police are summarily executed. The regular army soldiers, though…' Erich's face took a dark look. 'We do not capture many of them, since they are almost always murdered by the blocking troops. The ones we do capture, more often than not, turn to fight for us.'

The air was suddenly rented by an ominous whistling sound. 'Down!' Erich shouted, tackling Harry and Hermione to the ground. The cause for Erich's alarm was made clear a second later, when there was an enormous explosion off to Harry's left. He rolled over and instinctively shielded Hermione with his body, conjuring a Shield Charm above them to protect them from any flying shrapnel and rocks.

Another artillery shell landed just metres in front of their position. The machine gun Erich was using was torn from its mount and hit him across the stomach, throwing him to the ground and knocking the wind out of him. Hermione reached out from under Harry and cast her own Shield Charm over the stunned and incapacitated man as another explosion tore apart the air to their right.

Harry heard the roar of jet engines and snuck a look up. Several fighter-bombers were circling above them. One of them swooped down and a black object detached from its win. Harry watched as the bomb fell in slow-motion, hitting a concrete bunker and detonating with a giant orange fireball.

Erich had come to his senses. 'Their air support is late! Pity they did not come earlier when their tanks were being shredded!'

'Can't we shoot them down?' Hermione shrieked. 'They're dropping bombs on us!'

'You try to aim a curse at an object moving at several hundred kilometres per hour,' Erich yelled. 'Better leave it to the missile troops.'

'Where the bloody hell are the missile troops, then?'

'They are…here!' Erich said. Harry was about to ask the man if he had lost his mind when he heard a shrill whistle, then an explosion almost directly above him. He turned his head. One of the fighter-bombers was spiralling to the ground, on fire and missing a wing. The pilot fruitlessly tried to eject, but misjudged the timing and shot headfirst into the ground. He and his seat crashed a split-second later with a sickening crunch, overshadowed by the blast of the jet's impact a few seconds later.

Harry saw more pale white streaks of missile exhaust crisscross the air, heard massive explosions shock him down to his bones as the missiles struck their targets. Two or three were shot down and crashed onto the battlefield in a flaming wreck, while the survivors began frantically dropping their payloads and turning away, desperately trying to escape. One of them soared perhaps only twenty metres above Harry as it fled, only for the pilot to misjudge his altitude and tumble into the ground a second later.

'They never learn!' Erich cackled. 'Sending bombers in unsupported by a ground attack or support aircraft.'

'Don't the muggle generals know better?' Hermione asked, sounding genuinely curious.

'Sure they do, but they are not the ones in charge of the attack. It is always one of Voldemort's underlings who know little about non-magical ways of war.'

'That's…idiotic!'

'Of course it is,' Erich said almost nonchalantly. 'But that is not a cause of complaint for us, is it?'

There came an almost otherworldly cry through the dusty battlefield that made the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stand on edge. He knew that sound. He had last heard it during the raid on the train. It was the sound that the Inferi – or zombies, or whatever they were – made when they attacked.

He shared a frightened look with Hermione. She had recognised it, too, judging by her pale countenance and terrified expression. Harry tried to reach for her hand in support, but found that his limbs were frozen and immovable.

'What do we do?' Hermione asked Erich frantically.

Erich looked stoic, but Harry could see that he was as frightened as the rest of them by the sudden appearance of these nearly unkillable beings. 'The rockets,' he said in a near whisper. 'They are susceptible to explosives. If Blasting Curses work, so should rocket artillery.'

He grabbed his radio. ' _Major Schwartz!_ ' he bellowed into it. ' _Major Schwartz!_ '

' _Was zum Teufel, Oberstleutnant Holzer?_ ' a voice called back over the radio.

' _Wir brauchen Raketenunterstützung!_ ' Erich shouted. ' _So viel Feuer, wie Sie uns geben können!_ '

' _Wir sind nicht voll aufgeladen!_ '

Erich roared in frustration. ' _Das ist mir scheißegal!_ _Zielt auf fünfhundert Meter ost-nordöstlich von Sektor zwanzig. So viele Raketen, wie Sie haben!_ '

' _Fünfhundert Meter ost-nordöstlich von Sektor zwanzig. Verstanden. Wir werden unser Bestes tun._ '

Erich nearly slammed his radio back into its holster. 'The _Arschlöcher_ must have been drinking while reloading or something,' he snarled. 'They are somehow still not fully reloaded, a full twenty minutes after their last volley… _verdammt!_ We are on our own to hold out until they come through for us.'

'How long will that be?' Hermione asked, sounding panicked.

'Five minutes? I do not know,' Erich growled. 'They have to finish their reload drill, then acquire a target, aim, and then wait for the signal to fire. We have to hold them off as best we can.'

'How far away are they?' Harry asked, trying to peer through the smoke.

'More than five hundred metres away,' Erich answered. He pointed towards the still-smouldering wreckage of one of the tanks. 'That marks approximately five hundred metres. We cannot see them yet, so they are most likely between five hundred and one thousand metres away. I instructed the rocket artillerymen to aim for five hundred metres.'

Harry nodded tensely. 'What do we do? Blasting Curses?'

Erich shook his head. 'Too slow. Use guns.'

'But guns have no effect on them – '

'Aim for the head,' Erich said. 'Remember the train raid? Blasting Curses worked best when they took off the…things'…heads. I will take a bet that bullets can do the same if you aim properly.'

'And what if they don't?'

'Then we switch back to wands.'

Harry drew and shouldered his rifle, searching through the dust cloud with his scope for any trace of the Inferi-soldiers. There came another bloodcurdling cry from the creatures, and Harry began to see silhouettes materialise through the dust.

He aimed for the head of one of them and pulled the trigger. There was a flash that indicated the gun had fired, but a second later, the bullet dove into the ground several hundred metres short, kicking up a cloud of dust.

'Aim higher,' Erich instructed as he squeezed the trigger of his own rifle. 'Above their heads. You need to compensate for bullet drop.'

Harry saw through the scope that Erich's round, too, hit the ground short of the silhouetted figures. 'The range is too far,' Erich muttered. 'Our rifles are useless at the distance those things are at.'

'Do we have to wait, then?' Harry asked.

Erich sighed. 'We have no choice but to wait. We will just be shooting at shadows if we do not.'

Harry watched as the silhouettes grew clearer, their edges growing more defined. Slowly, he began to make out empty and blank faces, drab green uniforms, and helmets worn lopsidedly on their heads. In their hands were clutched an assortment of primitive weapons – clubs, spears, knives. Not one of them was armed with a wand or a gun.

The creatures were moving just as haphazardly as they did when Harry first encountered them more than two weeks ago. Occasionally, one would trip, but then get up not two seconds later, continuing to walk on as if nothing had happened.

'They are within range,' Erich said. 'Begin shooting. Remember, aim high.'

Harry positioned the reticule above the head of one of the creatures and squeezed the trigger. It impacted the thing above its left lung, leaving a bloody, circular wound, but the creature did not even feel it and simply continued hobbling forward.

He lifted the barrel of his gun even further and fired again. This time, the bullet flew too high and did not impact at all. Harry grunted in frustration, lowering his aim slightly and firing a third time. Finally, he hit the being right on its temple. There was a spurt of blood and brain matter as the round blew through its skull, and the creature went down, not to move again.

'So they can be killed,' Hermione murmured.

'It looks so,' Erich affirmed. He grabbed his radio. ' _Zielt auf den Kopf!_ ' he shouted into it. ' _Das ist die einzige Möglichkeit, sie zu töten!_ '

Harry, Hermione, and Erich kept up their fire. It was absurdly difficult for Harry to hit anything, often requiring two or three shots down a target. He almost wanted to go back to using magic, but then realised that he would simply be facing the same problem in a different medium. It was not like wands came with scopes, either, and it would have been even more impossible to aim accurately.

'What the bloody hell are the rocket troops doing?' Erich growled in between shots. The Inferi kept advancing. They were almost at the five-hundred metre mark now. In another thirty seconds, the rocket artillery would miss altogether…

Then it came, the shrill, high-pitched cries of rockets tearing the air. Harry looked away from his scope to see the bright glowing tails of rockets streaking across the sky, leaving trails of white smoke behind them. There were so many of them that it was like looking up at the star-studded sky. They arced over Harry's position and fell back to earth.

Harry had to clutch his ears to avoid being deafened by the sound of dozens and dozens of warheads going off simultaneously. The first rockets exploded about fifty metres behind the front line formed by the creatures. Harry saw through the thick dust cloud that was kicked up bloody limbs, pieces of torsos, twisted helmets and weapons. The barrage began slowly creeping forward, ripping more of them to shreds as it advanced.

Now even the first line was obscured by the rockets' explosions, and the barrage kept advancing yet. The rockets passed the tank that Erich had used to mark the five-hundred metre point and came still closer. The explosions were growing louder now as the impacts neared. They must have been four hundred metres away now. Soon, it was three hundred, then two hundred…

The shrill whistling sounds ceased, the explosions stopped. The artillery barrage had ended, and the battlefield was eerily quiet except for the odd volley of machine gun fire, or the occasional spell flying through the dust cloud and disappearing, not hitting anything.

The dust began to settle. Then, as if hit by a sudden gust, it was blasted forward towards the defenders. Harry and Hermione reacted instinctively, conjuring Shields. Erich was a split-second late and choked on a mouthful of dirt before he got his own shield up.

'Ventus Jinx!' Hermione yelled.

'How is it so strong?' Harry shouted back.

He got his answer a second later when the dust cleared. Behind it, less than two hundred metres away, were countless phalanxes of wizards, all with Shield Charms up. Machine-gun fire opened up at once, but the bullets were simply absorbed harmlessly by shields in pops of light.

'Killing Curses!' Harry yelled. He levelled his wand at one of the wizards in the phalanx directly in front and shouted the incantation. The green jet of light flew true. The wizard on the receiving end cancelled his Shield, attempting perhaps to conjure some object to block the curse, but he was too late. The Killing Curse hit the unprepared wizard right in the chest, and he crumpled to the ground.

The other wizards closed ranks immediately, disregarding their fallen comrade. Hermione fired a Killing Curse of her own, and this time, they were prepared. Her intended target lowered his Shield, conjuring a rock to block the curse, then immediately re-cast the Charm.

'Try this: you two use Killing Curses to distract!' Erich ordered. 'I will shoot them when their Shield is lowered.'

Harry and Hermione both nodded. ' _Avada Kedavra!_ ' they shouted simultaneously. Two jets of light soared towards a witch, who copied her comrade and lowered her Shield. The precise moment she did, however, Erich let off a burst of fire from his rifle that nailed the woman in the temple, killing her instantly.

'Again!'

They repeated the same procedure. Another wizard went down in a bloody heap. Then another. But they were too slow. The phalanx was within a hundred metres of their position now, and still had more than half its initial strength left. Another few steps and they would be within range to drop their shields and start firing spells.

'Can't the artillery fire on them?' Hermione asked desperately between casts.

Erich shook his head. 'Too close. They risk hitting us.'

The phalanx came closer. Three more wizards went down, but there still must have been close to ten remaining. Less than fifty metres away now. Twenty.

' _Confringo!_ ' Harry yelled in desperation. ' _Avada Kedavra! Confringo!_ '

The first Blasting Curse was deflected by the Shields, but the Killing Curse following it pierced one of them, killing the witch cowering behind. The second Blasting Curse soared through the gap provided by the dead witch and exploded in the centre of the formation. The two wizards standing on the left side were blown away from the phalanx, their backs ripped open.

The GBS wizards did not attempt to close ranks this time. Instead, they dropped their Shields and rushed forward, firing off curses as they came. Harry pushed Hermione down behind the earthen parapet as the curses soared past. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Erich firing blindly with his rifle.

'We have to retreat!' Erich shouted. 'Go! I will cover you!'

Harry opened his mouth, but Erich cut him off. 'Do not argue! Go!'

Harry began backing up out of the position, covering their retreat with smokescreen spells that were quickly dispelled by more Ventus Jinxes. Curses were flying from all directions. The wizards were just metres in front of them now. Harry was doing his best to place himself between Hermione and the enemy. He indiscriminately shot Killing Curses, taking out two as he retreated.

Erich was in front of him, his wand in one hand and his rifle held in the other, alternating between spells and bursts of fire. Three wizards fell limply into the trench, and Erich presumed them to be dead.

That is, until one of them raised his wand and slashed it. A purple spell, shaped almost like a line, flew at Erich. Harry gasped in realisation of what the spell was. Erich, however, did not notice it until it was too late to dodge.

The spell hit him right in the abdomen. His face bore a look of surprise as he collapsed in slow motion.

'No!' Hermione shrieked, stepping out from behind Harry. ' _Avada Kedavra!_ '

The green jet of light hit the perpetrator in the chest, killing him. Hermione rushed forward towards Erich's fallen form and felt desperately for a pulse. In her frenzy, she did not see the wizard that clambered over the parapet, his wand pointed at her.

The GBS thug cackled. ' _Capium –_ '

Harry leapt forward, trying to throw himself between Hermione and the GBS thug. With his right hand, he pointed the Elder Wand blindly at where he thought the wizard was standing.

' – _anima!_ '

' _Avada Kedavra!_ ' Harry shouted.

He turned his head in the direction of the GBS wizard. The Killing Curse was flying true, straight for the man's chest. Harry watched as the man spotted it far too late. He tried to jump out of its way, but the curse hit him on the left arm.

In his frenzy, Harry had completely forgotten about the curse that the GBS wizard had cast. He felt it hit him in the stomach. A feeling of coldness swept through his body. A sort of tugging force.

Then there was pain. Excruciating, agonising, head-splitting pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see A/N of previous chapter for update on the state of this story.
> 
> Translations – all from German:
> 
> Anna speaking into the radio:
> 
> 'Forces sighted in the east!' someone shouted through the radio. 'New forces sighted in the east!'
> 
> Anna's face paled at once. 'What do you mean, "new forces"?'
> 
> 'Tanks and helicopters and thousands of soldiers!' the man yelled. Harry recognised it as belonging to Raul. 'The north was just a diversion, damn it. This is the main attack!'
> 
> 'Anna, come back to headquarters now!' a new voice that Harry recognised as Schumacher's spoke.
> 
> Erich speaking into the radio:
> 
> Erich grabbed his radio. 'Where do you need the most help?' he shouted into it.
> 
> 'Everywhere!' a voice screamed back a few seconds later.
> 
> 'Is there a particular damned place?' Erich snapped impatiently.
> 
> 'Sector twenty in the southeast is under heavy attack,' the voice said.'Tanks and wizards!'
> 
> Erich speaking to Major Schwartz:
> 
> He grabbed his radio. 'Major Schwartz!' he bellowed into it. 'Major Schwartz!'
> 
> 'What the bloody hell, Colonel Holzer?' a voice called back over the radio.
> 
> 'We need rocket support!' Erich shouted. 'As much fire as you can give us!'
> 
> 'We are not fully reloaded!'
> 
> Erich roared in frustration. 'I don't give a [swear]! Target five hundred metres east-northeast of sector twenty. As many rockets as you have!'
> 
> 'Five hundred metres east-northeast of sector twenty. Understood. We will do our best.'
> 
> Miscellaneous:
> 
> 'Aim for the head!' [Erich] shouted into it. 'That is the only way to kill them!'


	20. XIX: Im Westen nicht Neues

Daphne watched as Harry and Hermione raced off after Erich, wands in hand. 'Let's go,' Raul said. 'We do not have time to waste.'

Raul began walking off briskly. Daphne and Neville both struggled to keep up with him, having to jog a little at times to keep pace. He turned left and descended down a few dirt stairs and ducked through a small portal.

Daphne followed him through and found herself in a command bunker. A spiral staircase led up through the ceiling to another floor. She could hear machine guns going off above her and presumed that they were right below a pillbox.

Raul bent over a radio set. ' _Meldungen_ _?_ ' he spoke into it.

' _Panzer nähern sich Ihrem Sektor, Oberstleutnant Noriega,_ ' a voice said. ' _Fünf oder sechs._ '

Raul nodded and turned towards Daphne and Neville. 'You know how to deal with tank?'

'Reductor and Blasting Curses?' Neville asked.

'That will work. Come with me.'

Raul charged up the spiral staircase, taking it two steps at a time. Daphne and Neville tore after him, though not quite managing to catch up to his brisk pace. When she reached the top, Daphne saw that she was in a roughly circular concrete structure. There were two long, narrow slits cut out on the side facing the battlefield. Through them, three soldiers with machine guns and two soldiers with wands were firing out towards the incoming enemy soldiers.

Raul leaned over the slit on the left and looked out. 'Tanks coming from the east-northeast!' he said to everyone. 'Destroy them!'

Neville and Daphne took their places at one of the embrasures. She could see the tanks. They were perhaps a few hundred metres away from them, their sides directly facing them. Every few seconds, one of them would fire its gun at one of the defensive positions. Behind the tanks were columns of soldiers, both muggle ones wearing the uniform of the Imperial Army and green-robed or brown-robed wizards.

Daphne took careful aim at the lead tank, but just as she was about to cast her first curse, the tank exploded in a bright fireball. Several of the soldiers standing directly behind the tank were blasted backwards. Despite her grimly extensive experience, Daphne could not help but retch a little at the bloody mist that was the result of their bodies being torn apart.

She took aim at another one of the tanks. ' _Reducto!_ ' she shouted, while Neville cast a Blasting Curse seconds after her. The curses hit the back of the tank, and for a moment, seemed to do nothing. But then, the tank erupted into flame. The crew inside scrambled to get out, torched by the fire now engulfing their vehicle, only to be cut down by machine guns.

'Good shot,' Neville murmured.

Daphne smiled slightly at him. 'Thanks.'

'That was hot,' Raul noted, sounding offhand.

'The crew was a little more than hot,' Daphne deadpanned.

'Much more than hot, but still not as burning hot as you,' Raul replied with a wink. Daphne just rolled her eyes at him. Neville, meanwhile, was looking at him like he was something disgusting stuck on the bottom of his shoe.

Daphne knew that Raul was joking, so she did not put much thought into it. Besides, a small part of her felt morbidly gratified that Raul's flirting was eliciting such reactions from Neville. But she put those thoughts out of her mind. There was still a battle to fight.

She shot another Reductor Curse at one of the tanks, but it flew wide. She took aim again, but the tank that she was aiming at was destroyed before she could even begin to incant the curse.

'Stop destroying them before us,' she heard Neville hiss under his breath. 'I want to kill more of them.'

Neville did not get his wish, however. The two of them cast several more curses, but missed every one of them. The tanks moving at an angle relative to their line of fire was not helping their aim. Daphne finally managed to land a Reductor Curse right underneath the barrel of the last remaining tank's cannon, destroying a part of the turret. A second later, a Blasting Curse soared through the opening that she had created and set the tank on fire. The crew bailed out, only to be killed a second later by a hail of bullets.

'Well, we have a winner,' Raul said almost light-heartedly as the battle seemed to temporarily ebb with the destruction of the armoured force. Daphne did not understand how he could maintain such an air of joviality in the middle of a battle. It almost seemed out of character for him – for anyone. Not five minutes ago, he was speaking severely into the radio, giving stiff orders. But now, he was unashamedly flirting with her, amusement clear in his voice.

'When do I get my trophy?' Daphne asked, deciding to play along with Raul's carefree air, even if she was not exactly feeling it. They could all use some cheering up, after all.

'Ah, miss,' Raul said with a smile. 'You are already so perfect that you do not need a trophy.'

Daphne snorted at the cheesiness of his comment, while Neville glared at the wall as if it had wronged him in some way. She felt a little sorry for him. It was, to some degree, her fault, after all. She was the one who was scared to be straightforward about her feelings…

Raul suddenly jumped, growing alarmed, all cheer and joviality fading from his face. 'Do you hear that?' he breathed.

Daphne listened closely, but the noise was not exactly hard to hear, for the roar overpowered everything else on the battlefield. 'Are those…airplanes?'

Raul poked his head out of the firing slit slightly, looking up. 'Yes,' he hissed, alarmed. 'Everyone, get out of the pillbox. Now! We are a priority target!'

Daphne saw a bomb fall on a pillbox far away and explode, destroying the fortification. She did not need to be told twice, and followed the other soldiers as they raced down the spiral staircase and out of the fortification, Raul bringing up the rear. Neville followed right behind her, and she instinctively grabbed his hand, squeezing it slightly. She felt him squeeze back in return.

'Go to the right!' Raul ordered. Daphne followed the other soldiers as they made a right turn into a long trench. She did not know where they were going, and dashed blindly in pursuit, trusting that Raul knew what he was doing.

'Take this position on the right!' Raul called. The soldiers turned right into a circular, sandbag-lined emplacement. There were three dead bodies on the ground, one with a wand in hand and two with rifles. In the centre was a small blast hole that seemed to have been made by the explosive device that had killed these men.

The soldiers moved the bodies into a corner and took up their positions, setting their machine guns down on the sandbags and loading them, preparing to fire.

Suddenly, Daphne heard a whistling sound, then an immense explosion coming from their right. She turned in that direction, and to her shock, saw that the pillbox that they had just left had been hit. The top of the structure was completely gone, and grey concrete dust was shooting out of the embrasures.

'If we left a minute later…' Neville breathed in her ear.

But she did not have time to be relieved. 'Get down!' Raul suddenly shouted. 'Against the left wall!'

Daphne followed his command without question, pressing herself firmly into the left side wall of the position and ducking as low as she could. A second later, there was the sound of rapid gunfire, then small explosions as rounds impacted the ground in their makeshift bunker. Daphne heard helicopter blades and understood immediately why Raul had given the sudden order.

' _¡Xavier! ¡La granada termobárica!_ ' Raul yelled over the sound of the gunfire.

The soldier that Raul had called Xavier crawled forward and retrieved a tubelike weapon from his bag. He reached into it again and withdrew a sticklike device with a thick, cylindrical tip. Xavier slotted into one end of the tubelike weapon and lifted it over his shoulder, peeking out over the parapet.

He squeezed the trigger. There was a loud popping sound and a cloud of dust kicked up on the opposite end of the tube. Daphne peeked over the top. Xavier had shot a rocket, and it was flying straight for the bottom of the helicopter.

It impacted it and detonated in a brilliant flash of yellow. The helicopter wobbled, then tilted to one side. Its blades folded and snapped. Then the helicopter fell, crashing nose first into the ground, blowing up in an orange and red fireball.

Raul popped up and looked around. 'We are clear!' he declared. 'Back to positions!'

Daphne dashed towards the sandbags at the front of the emplacement, her wand in hand and looking out for enemies. But she could not see anything past a few hundred metres through the smoke from the burning wrecks of the destroyed tanks and downed planes, or the dust kicked up from bombs and explosions.

'Is the attack over?' Daphne asked, then kicked herself for even thinking of asking such a stupid question.

Raul shook his head, serious now. 'Their air support either arrived late, or is trying to soften us up for another attack. Either way, they will not stop now. Not after they had already committed so much resources to this attack.'

Daphne knew that, of course, but hearing it being voiced was a different sort of unsettling. Neville looked pale next to her, and she reached over and squeezed his arm.

'You be careful,' she whispered. 'Mind your wound.'

Neville nodded. 'You too.'

Daphne was about to say something, perhaps give Neville another small squeeze, when she heard it. A disturbing cry was being carried through the whistling wind. She had never heard anything that sounded remotely like that in her life. The sound was shrill, yet otherworldly and beastlike. It felt like it felt like a dementor's presence, almost, in the way that it managed to suck all the warmth from her and chill her blood.

'What was that?' she hissed.

Neville shook his head, looking frightened. 'I'm not sure…that cry…' He shuddered a little and looked at Raul, who gave a small shake of his head in confusion.

'Do you think…it could be those things that Harry and Hermione faced?' Daphne asked suddenly. 'They said that they made this…terrible noise.'

'It was more of a screeching, wasn't it?' Neville replied. 'That was how they described it. That sounded a little more like…a shrill baying.'

'Whatever they are, that noise was not of non-magical origin,' Raul said, trying to sound steely. 'Be on guard.'

The muggle soldiers swallowed nervously and reloaded their machine guns. The wizards gripped their wand more tightly in their hands in anticipation.

And then, it appeared. Out of the brown and grey smog came a line of…soldiers. But they were not the same soldiers as those of the Imperial Army. They were wearing different uniforms. In their hands, they seemed to be clutching not guns, but antiquated, obsolete weapons. Daphne could spot a spear, and what looked to be clubs and sticks.

'Fire!' Raul shouted. The machine gunners jammed their fingers down on the trigger. Bright white tracers flew across the battlefield. Daphne looked through her rifle scope and could see the red mist that signalled the bullets striking their targets. Occasionally, one would be hit in the head or directly over the heart, and go down, but the majority of the soldiers almost seemed to shrug off their wounds and keep coming as if they were not injured at all.

'They're the creatures Harry and Hermione fought!' Daphne shouted, realising that these 'soldiers' matched Harry's and Hermione's descriptions of what they had seen. 'They're like…Inferi…but different. You have to aim for the head! Or otherwise blow them up! Use Blasting Curses!'

Neville, Daphne, Raul, and the other wizards began throwing Blasting Curses as fast as they could. It was hard to aim, however, at this range, and at least half of their curses flew wide. The ones that hit managed to kill two or three of the soldiers each, but the losses seemed to be replenished by new numbers coming out of seemingly nowhere.

'Can't we do anything?' Neville shouted. 'Artillery? Or Anna mentioned rockets?'

Raul cursed under his breath. 'The radio was back in the bunker,' he cried, hitting himself. 'I did not bring it in our rush to get out.'

'Then what're we going to do?' Neville yelled back between casting curses. 'We're too slow! We can't possibly get rid of them all!'

'Others will call the rockets,' Raul said hopefully. 'Holzer, perhaps. He has one of the portable radios on him.'

'How long will that take?' Daphne asked desperately as she watched the soldiers approach, rattling off Blasting Curses as fast as she could.

Raul shook his head. 'I do not know how they work! _Confringo!_ Don't ask me!'

Daphne growled in despair. The line was coming closer now. Her curses were now more accurate thanks to the closer range, but at the rate that they were taking out the soldiers, the increased accuracy was inconsequential. Neville, Raul, and the other wizards were all doing their best, but the well of disposable flesh seemed bottomless.

The monotonous din of explosions was suddenly broken by loud screeches. Daphne looked up. Rockets were flying over the battlefield, launched from multiple far-off hilltops. She watched as they flew in a perfect arc and crashed back down onto the battlefield, right in the midst of the Inferi-soldiers' ranks.

The clouds of dust kicked up by the explosions of the missiles' warheads were stained red with blood. So the creatures were alive after all. There were screams – more so screeches – of pain as the creatures died. The barrage crept forward towards their defensive front, taking out more of the soldiers as it came. The air was filled once more by clouds of dust, bits of flesh, and fogs of blood.

The barrage stopped less than one hundred metres from where they stood. The dust cloud was so thick that it cast its own shadow over them. A tank wreckage that stood only metres from the edge of the dust cloud was barely visible.

'Reinforce your positions while the enemy cannot see us,' Raul ordered. The soldiers immediately got to work, reloading their weapons and piling on additional sandbags. Neville and Daphne tried to help, but found that they were completely unneeded. The soldiers moved almost perfectly synchronously as they went about their work.

Suddenly, as if hit by a gust of wind, the dust began blowing in their direction. ' _Protego!_ ' Daphne shrieked, conjuring a Shield Charm just in the nick of time to avoid getting a mouthful of dust. Raul leaned forward and conjured a Shield Charm over the three muggle soldiers and himself, deflecting the flying particulates.

The dust cloud cleared, and Daphne went cold at the sight of what was behind it. A row of wizards wearing brown robes of the SA were advancing, Shield Charms held up and deflecting all the bullets that were beginning to fly at them. They were perhaps only one hundred metres away.

The two wizards in Raul's unit tried a variety of spells, but they all bounced off the SA's Shields. 'You need to use Killing Curses!' Neville shouted, raising his wand. ' _Avada Kedavra!_ '

Neville's curse flew true, but the witch on the receiving end of the spell dropped her Shield, conjured a brick to block the curse, and re-Shielded herself in time before bullets or any other spells could find their mark. Daphne tried to fire a curse of her own, but met the same response. The wizards kept advancing, undeterred by the fire that was coming towards them in all directions.

Daphne had a sudden idea. 'Machine gunners!' she commanded, aware that she was usurping Raul's authority but not caring in a situation like this. 'Shoot at the rightmost target!'

The machine gunners listened to her, and turned their aim towards the wizard on the right. Daphne saw the wizard's face contort in an arrogant sneer as his Shield absorbed all their bullets. Daphne almost wanted to smirk. The idiot did not see what was coming next.

' _Avada Kedavra!_ ' Daphne shouted, pointing her wand at the man. Foolishly the SA thug lowered his Shield to intercept the Killing Curse with some object, only to be caught right in the torrent of bullets coming from the machine gunners. His body convulsed as it was ripped apart by the bullets before falling limply to the ground.

'Next one to his left!' Neville ordered, catching on. The machine guns shifted their target to the next wizard. Neville shot a Killing Curse in his direction. The wizard, having seen the fate of his comrade, did not lower his shield. The Killing Curse smashed right through and hit him in the chest.

Daphne was about to shift to the next enemy when the machine gunners ran out of ammunition. Raul rushed back towards the ammo dump at the back of the position and grabbed two metal tins. The gunners reloaded as fast as they could, but in the time that they had lost, the wizards had advanced perhaps another ten metres. They were only perhaps twenty seconds away now…

Neville, Daphne, and the machine gunners managed to take out two more wizards, but reinforcements were coming up to take the place of the fallen. The ranks had not been reduced. In fact, it had only swelled.

'Do we retreat?' Daphne asked Raul desperately.

'We cannot give up this position!' Raul cried, unable to keep the fear from coming into his voice. 'We give up this position, everyone else near us is in danger!'

'Then what do we – '

Daphne was interrupted by a Killing Curse soaring right past her right ear. The wizards were right on top of them now, and they had lowered their Shields. The machine gunners, taking advantage of this, managed to eliminate three or four of the wizards, but they were silenced when a Blasting Curse landed right between them, killing both.

'Go!' Raul commanded. 'I will hold them off!'

'You can't take them alone!' Neville shouted as he fired a Blasting Curse at one of the witches, which she parried away with a Shield, only to hit another SA wizard right in the head, killing him. They were fighting in a semicircle now, Daphne and Neville and Raul and the two surviving wizards. Daphne sliced open two of the wizards' chests with one _Sectumsempra_ , but another jumped into the pit to take the dead man's place.

'You need to go!' Raul repeated. 'We can defend the chokepoint at the entrance to the position. You are more important to the resistance as a whole!'

There were at least ten SA thugs around them. They were outnumbered two-to-one and barely holding on. Daphne knew that Raul's plan was suicide. She could not possibly leave him to die. Neville – even with his obviously less-than-charitable feelings towards Raul – did not seem to want to leave him either.

Then, a Blasting Curse soared past Daphne and exploded off the wall to Neville's left. At first, it seemed to her that he was okay – the curse had landed more than a metre away – but a split-second later, he doubled over, clutching his side.

His curse wound had been opened by the blast.

Daphne dropped everything else and rushed towards him, her wand arm seemingly moving on its own to parry or block the curses as they came. Neville was on the ground now, in terrible pain. The left side of his clothes was stained deep red with his blood.

'Get him out of here!' Raul shouted. 'We will cover you! Go!'

Daphne had been reluctant to leave before, to say the least, but now she wanted nothing else than to get Neville to safety. She could not even begin to fathom losing her best friend, her only family, her lover… _her love_.

She grabbed Neville by the collar and began dragging him out of the dugout. His wand arm was limply dangling on his side, and he was nearing the point of falling unconscious from pain. Daphne grabbed his wand out of his hand and stowed it in her own pocket, lest he lose it if he passed out. The Death Eaters were closing in on the remaining three fighters. Daphne tried to help them as much as she could, but her casting was hindered by the burden of Neville's form.

Raul looked at her, Daphne thought that the look was almost like a farewell. 'Just go! We will be fine!'

Daphne suppressed tears. They were going to die. _For you_ , a part of her thought, and a surge of guilt flowed over her. But then she saw Neville's now-limp form. _He's more important_ , she told herself, and she hated herself more. She was comparing the value of lives, and selfishly valuing Neville's life above those of three other people.

They turned left into the main trench. Raul and the three other soldiers were still fighting. She saw one SA brute go down, then another. Momentarily, she thought that they might triumph after all.

Then, suddenly, one of the two wizard soldiers went down. He managed to take an SA thug with him, but it did not matter. There were still five or six SA left, and only two still alive fighting against them.

The other wizard soldier was hit in the face with an orange curse of some kind. He cried out in agony for several long seconds, then fell to the ground, most likely dead. Raul was now the only one standing, facing perhaps six enemies all on his own.

An SA thug slashed his wand. Daphne saw with a gasp of horror a deep gash appear across Raul's abdomen. He fell to the ground. With a surge of hatred, she saw the SA thugs turn to each other in celebration at the murder of their foe…

And then, there was a popping sound that Daphne recognised as that of the rocket launcher firing. A split second later, a massive orange and yellow fireball ripped through the pit. The noise and shockwave of the blast rocked Daphne to the bone. She could not see what was happening through the bright glare.

The dust and smoke cleared. The pit was destroyed and eerily empty. Not one living soul was to be seen.

* * *

Harry felt pain – debilitating, terrible agony. The worst pain he had ever felt in his life. It was worse than the worst Cruciatus Curse. His head felt like it was being split open. His scar, which had prickled and itched but only once burned in the years following Voldemort's second resurrection, felt like it was being torched and torn apart. He could open his eyes but could see nothing through the star-studded blackness.

All the terrible memories came flooding back through his mind as if forced up to the surface by a dementor. The coldness that he felt certainly lent credence to that. But the pain…was that what it felt like to experience the Dementor's Kiss? Was he being Kissed?

He inexplicably saw Luna again, only for her to be struck down by a Killing Curse. She stood back up, but only to be struck again. He saw Ron's betrayal, all the terrible deaths that he had seen in his life. All the pained cries of those he had killed in the most brutal ways possible. The pain increased. There was a sort of tugging sensation around his temple that felt almost as if he were being sucked headfirst into a vortex.

Older memories came to the surface, now. The first months of the war, the memory of hearing of the deaths of Kingsley and McGonagall. The night after Voldemort returned for the second time. The tugging in his head grew stronger.

And suddenly, there was a shock of horrible pain, and the tugging in his temple stopped. His head felt as if it were thrown backwards. The cold eased ever so slightly. And then it was back. The tugging was over his heart now, stronger than ever. The memories kept on coming. The year of bliss between the wars was completely skipped. There was Remus's death, Fred's death, Dobby's death. Hermione being tortured in Malfoy Manor…

Hermione. And something warm lit up in his heart, pushing away the tugging sensation. The coldness battled its natural elemental foe, but it stood no chance of victory. Harry's unwelcome remembrances were now proceeding in the opposite direction, forward. The interwar year surfaced. Harry remembered how the two of them had gotten closer, more emotionally intimate and physically affectionate. Their first, shy, kiss. Their wedding. All the little moments of pure happiness that they shared despite the blackness of the world around them. Even the kiss they exchanged at the beginning of the battle…

And he could see again. He was looking into a pair of anxious brown eyes, a pale face filled with horrified concern. He blinked. Hermione was still there. He reached out. He could still feel her soft skin. She was real.

'Harry?' Hermione whispered, panicked.

'That's me.'

'What happened?'

The crackling of gunfire brought Harry back to his senses. 'I don't know,' he said, sitting up. 'But this isn't the time or place to try to figure it out. What happened? I saw Erich get – '

'He's alive,' Hermione panted, helping Harry to his feet. 'He has a pulse. He got hit by the purple curse. You know the one.'

Harry nodded grimly. 'We need to get him to…the healers…or whoever could help him. Come on!'

'But are you – '

'I'm okay, Hermione!' Harry snapped. He reached down to grab one of Erich's arms. In truth, he did not feel all that okay. His entire body was sore. His temple still burned. The only thing that remotely resembled 'okay' was the remarkable clarity of mind that he was feeling right now.

'Hermione, help me!'

Hermione grabbed Erich's other arm, and they hoisted him over their shoulders. They ducked into the main trench, trying to remember the way that they had come while keeping their heads down to avoid bullets and curses. The battle was still raging, and Harry felt more than a little guilt at leaving the front line, but he had to save Erich's life.

They turned left, recalling that it was roughly the way that they had come, then turned right into a trench that headed away from the front. They were most likely to find help in the rear, Harry intuited. He tried to ask several of the passing soldiers where the medical tent was, but they did not seem to understand him or were in too great of a rush to stop and chat. Harry was beginning to feel a little desperate. Would they never find help? Or would it be too late when they finally did, and Erich was already dead?

'Harry! Hermione!' a voice called from the right. Harry turned to see Anna standing a short distance away in a neighbouring trench. 'What happened?'

'It's Erich!' Hermione called back. 'He got hit by something…a curse! Do you know where the hospital is?'

Anna nodded, rushing towards them. She pulled out her wand and muttered a few spells under her breath, obviously trying to assess her lieutenant's condition.

'Alive,' she breathed. 'Only barely. Go forward until you hit a dead end. Take the left trench and keep going. You will see the magical field hospital there.'

Anna looked at them for a long second. 'And do not come back to the battle,' she added. 'Reinforcements are coming in. We will take it from here.'

Hermione opened her mouth to protest. 'But wouldn't we – '

'You have done enough,' Anna said with finality. 'Your help will be trivial now that reinforcements are coming from the north and west in large numbers. We will take it from here. Go! Do not waste any more time! Every second you waste means a greater chance he does not survive!'

Harry and Hermione rushed as fast as they possibly could down the trench. The going was beyond awkward with Erich's limp form in tow. Harry nearly tripped more times than he could count. Finally, after what seemed like a quest, they reached the fork and turned left.

After more minutes, they arrived in front of a drab tent. Other soldiers were moving in and out, carrying wounded or trying to stifle their own bleeding. Harry saw a man whose right leg had been split in two lengthwise, another whose eyeball had been sucked out of its socket. Another who had a deep gash in his abdomen.

Harry pushed aside the tent flap. The inside looked like the Hogwarts Hospital Wing, but far, far larger. There were beds in all directions, and they seemed to be carefully arranged by the type of injury. Physical wounds were concentrated in one area, burn wounds in another, curse wounds in yet another, and on and on it went like some sort of morbid mosaic.

A healer, a somewhat older man, came up to them. ' _Was ist mit ihm geschehen?_ ' he demanded a little curtly.

'Sorry?' Harry asked, confused.

'What is happened?' the healer switched to English.

'Curse,' Harry replied, trying to speak slowly, as the man did not seem too fluent in English. 'It was a purple curse. Causes organ damage. He's still alive, but only just.'

The healer seemed to understand. 'Follow me.'

He charged ahead, and Harry and Hermione followed. He led them towards an area of the hospital that was obviously meant for curse injuries. 'This bed,' he barked, stopping. Harry and Hermione set Erich down on it carefully. The healer drew his wand and began examining him. Weird lights and sounds that Harry did not know the meaning of appeared and hovered over the man's prone form. A couple of times, a stray glimmer would float in Harry's direction, and the healer would look at it with a confused expression for a few seconds before turning back to Erich.

'He will be good,' the healer said finally. He then gave Harry an odd look. 'I want to you examine.'

Harry furrowed his brow, confused. 'Me? I'm fine. I didn't get hurt or anything. I – '

'Some of the lights have lit in your direction,' the healer interjected. 'There is a weird magic, it seemed.'

'There are other people you need to treat,' Harry said, shaking his head. 'I'm not hurt.'

' _Bitte_ ,' the healer said firmly, giving an unmistakable order. He gestured to a nearby empty bed, and Harry laid down on it. The healer began waving his wand, casting more diagnostic spells on him. Odd lights flashed all around him, and several of them seemed to linger around his temple.

The healer left for a few minutes and called one of his colleagues, who performed the same examination. Hermione held his hand nervously as the two healers spoke in rapid German. Finally, the new healer turned to Harry with a grave expression.

'Did you realise that you were carrying a fragment of…of soul?' he asked in a harsh whisper.

'Of _soul_?' Harry repeated. He must not have heard it right. Him, carrying a piece of soul?

'Yes. A fragment of soul,' the healer confirmed. 'In the general area of your upper body?'

'Like…like a _Horcrux_?' Harry breathed.

The healer's face darkened. 'Yes…something like that…but not really. It was more like…a loose attachment that has weakened over the years. There is good news, however. It looks like it had been removed less than an hour ago.'

'How do you know?' Hermione spoke up, sounding equal parts shocked and disbelieving. 'And why hadn't anyone found it in the past?'

'The signature is very subtle,' the healer said quietly. 'I only found it because it seemed like it had been so recently removed. It tried to hold on, but it was so weakly bonded that it detached, leaving the signature behind. But if, for example, you had come to me a week ago, I would likely not have even noticed it.'

'Whose soul is it?' Harry asked, though a growing part of him felt like he already knew the answer. He did not even want to begin to think about the implications of what that could mean, both the good and the bad.

The healer shook his head. 'I cannot tell you that. No one could, not without examining the soul of every single human alive.'

Harry swallowed and sat up. The healer pushed him back down on the bed. 'You will stay,' he commanded. 'For the next hour, at the very least. We do not know how removing a foreign soul fragment might impact you. With soul and core magical injuries, any ill effects should manifest themselves by the end of said hour.'

The healers said a few things between themselves, ordered Harry to stay once more, and left his bedside, going to tend to other patients. When they were out of earshot, Hermione leaned into Harry's ear. Her countenance was deathly pale, and by the look in her eyes, she had come to the same realisation that he had.

'Am I thinking what you're thinking?' she whispered. 'About whom the soul fragment belonged to?'

Harry gave a small nod. 'Who else could it possibly be? But let's not talk about that in more detail here.'

'You know what this means, though?' Hermione said with a shudder.

Harry looked around him, feeling a lead weight sink into his stomach. 'That I am the one responsible for all this,' he muttered, hating himself. 'I am the one responsible for all those deaths.'

Hermione shook her head. 'No, you're not,' she whispered sternly, tears coming to her eyes. 'None of this is your fault. The healer even said that you could not possibly have known yourself and no healer could have told you. Harry, there's no reason for you to think this way.'

'If it weren't for me – '

'Then far, far, more people would be dead,' Hermione interrupted. She gave his hand a squeeze and leaned down on his chest. 'Innocent muggles, all the muggle-borns you helped out of the country, the family in France, even the people here that you helped motivate in some way. Harry, you've saved more lives than perhaps any other wizard who had ever lived.'

'But if I – '

'And you saved me,' Hermione whispered. Harry's sentence died in his throat.

'I didn't save you. You saved yourself. You saved me.'

'We promised each other that we will go on for each another, didn't we?' Hermione breathed gently. Harry nodded. 'We are both still here, there is nothing more to discuss.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to maschl for all his help with almost every aspect of this story. Thank you to W H Rutledge for his beta work.
> 
> Translations – all from German:
> 
> Raul – radio scene:
> 
> Raul bent over a radio set. 'Updates?' he spoke into it.
> 
> 'Tanks approaching your sector, Lieutenant Colonel Noriega,' a voice said. 'Five or six.'
> 
> Miscellaneous:
> 
> Was ist mit ihm geschehen? = What happened to him?


	21. XX: A Step Forward?

'Will he be all right?' Daphne asked the healer frantically.

'He will be,' the healer replied as she worked to stop Neville's bleeding. 'We would normally be able to heal a wound of this type with topical potions…but it had been left for so long that I cannot guarantee anything.'

'But you can stop the bleeding,' Daphne pressed. 'And fix him. Temporarily, at least.'

'We will. We will use Charms to stop the bleeding and replenish his blood,' the healer said. 'We also have enough potion to attempt to heal the wound. But please, wait outside while we do.'

Daphne recognised the obvious dismissal and walked away from Neville's bedside. She began wandering aimlessly about the hospital, wondering if she could or should be doing something more to help. She searched for familiar faces, but was not sure if she wanted to find them. If she found them here, they could be hurt. If she did not, they could be well, or they could be far worse than hurt…

Neville had barely arrived here with his life. He had bled so much that his face had gone as white as a sheet, and his pulse had been so feeble that it was bordering on not being there at all. The healers had said that if it had been five more minutes, he would have died…

And then there was Raul and the two soldiers that Daphne could not remember the name of. They had died so that she could live…she had failed. And then she had retreated – to save Neville, but retreated nonetheless – when the battle was still raging, when they had not yet won. It was the Second War all over again. She had sat aside yet again while others fought and died…she had learned nothing; she had not paid her penance.

Daphne was walking absentmindedly when someone called her name. She stopped and felt a coldness descend over her.

'Here!' Hermione called. Daphne turned towards the source of her voice. Hermione was sitting next to a bed on which Harry was lying. There were red marks on her face that indicated that she had been digging her fingernails into her cheeks.

'What happened?' Daphne demanded, rushing up to her and hugging her. 'Is he okay? Is he hurt?' She asked as she extricated herself.

'I'm fine!' Harry said. 'Erich isn't, though. He got hit by the purple curse. You know the one.'

Daphne nodded darkly. 'But he's alive?'

'I think so,' Hermione answered. 'The healers moved him off to another section. They're probably going to give him a massive course of potions…I think he'll be fine… I mean…well…I'd know.'

'What about Neville?' Hermione suddenly asked harshly, colour vanishing from his face. 'Where is he?'

'He's alive,' Daphne replied quickly. 'A Blasting Curse exploded near him. It tore open his wound again. He almost bled out, but he's alive. Barely alive, but alive.'

'They'll be able to heal him?' Harry asked, evidently seeking confirmation.

Daphne nodded. 'They'll stop the bleeding and replenish his blood. They'll even try to heal his wound completely. They said they had the potions needed to do it.'

Hermione's face broke into a small smile. 'That's…great!'

'Yes, it is,' Daphne agreed, a little half-heartedly through her feelings of self-loathing. 'What happened to Harry?'

'I'm conscious, you know,' Harry said, sounding a little miffed. 'You could just ask me.'

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, and Harry shirked back a little. She drew her wand and cast a _Muffliato_ around them.

'You know about the Horcruxes,' Hermione began matter-of-factly.

Daphne nodded. 'Are you saying…are you saying they found _another_ one?' she intuited. 'And that was how Riddle returned?'

'Of sorts,' Hermione replied. 'It…it wasn't a real Horcrux. The healer said that it was "bonded weakly", whatever that means. The Horcrux that we didn't know about…it was…it was…Harry.'

' _Harry?_ '

'Me,' Harry said, looking grim. 'I'm the reason Riddle came back.'

Hermione shook her head. 'It's not,' she told him in a heart-warmingly tender voice. 'You're not the reason Riddle came back. You never knew. None of us did. We all threw around theories that he came back via one improbable ritual or another. None of us had the slightest clue.'

'Hermione's right,' Daphne added, trying to sound calm but betrayed by her shaking voice. 'You aren't the reason for any of this. Has the Horcrux – the soul fragment, I guess, in this case – been removed?'

Hermione nodded unsurely. 'It was removed…somehow…'

'I was hit by some spell,' Harry spoke up quietly. 'During the battle…that might have been how it happened. I felt this…tugging…sensation around my temple. It was my scar.'

Daphne nodded, unsure of what to say. Then, the realisation hit her. 'This means…Riddle could now be killed, once and for all,' she breathed out loud involuntarily, then wanted to slap herself for being so insensitive.

'Provided he doesn't have any more Horcruxes,' Harry murmured darkly. 'He could have another…stashed away somewhere…'

Hermione nibbled her lower lip. 'That's…unlikely…' she said sceptically. 'Splitting his soul into seven pieces had rendered it unstable enough…now we know he's split it into eight…splitting it into nine would be…impossible, according to all known rules of magic, at least.'

'And yet, we find out again and again that he managed to do impossible things with dark magic,' Harry muttered. 'What's to say there isn't another Horcrux out there that he's somehow managed to make? Or that there isn't some obscure ritual that he could use to come back, again?' His face grew desperate. 'I don't want to fight anymore.'

'None of us want to, either,' Daphne said. 'But this is probably the biggest break we've had in all these years. It should be a cause for celebration, not more dark musings about how Riddle could return again.'

'How can we celebrate when there's the possibility of – '

'I doubt there is,' Daphne interrupted firmly. 'Riddle is arrogant, like all Death Eaters. He would not consider creating another Horcrux – if that's even possible for him – when he's already being tethered to life by some unknown force. He would think that it was simply "meant to be", that there's no need for a "contingency plan", that he's destined to take over the world and rule it forever.'

'But what if – '

'We won't,' Daphne said, trying to sound sure. 'And if, somehow, it does, then we'll deal with what comes when it comes.'

Harry looked at her with hard eyes, but Daphne did not back down or submit to his doubting and grim propositions. Finally, Harry gave a sigh and leaned back on his pillow. 'You're both right,' he murmured. 'We need to just focus on what's ahead of us.'

Hermione nodded and leaned in towards Harry, stroking his face and whispering something into his ear. Daphne, feeling that she was perhaps intruding on a private moment, left to continue her aimless wandering. She knew that it was wrong, especially at a time like this, but she could not help but feel a certain sense of excitement and elation. They had long given up on trying to figure out how Voldemort had returned, believing that they would never find the one correct improbable hypothesis in a forest of improbable hypotheses.

But now, they knew. It had been hiding right under their noses this whole time. And now, they had dealt with it. Daphne knew exactly what the implications of that were. If they killed Voldemort this time around – however they did – he would never return again.

At least, if her guess was right that Voldemort had not created any more Horcruxes. Hermione had dismissed the idea of a hidden, eighth, Horcrux long ago because of the instability that it would have rendered Voldemort's soul. Now that they knew there _was_ a seventh Horcrux…surely there could not possibly be a _ninth_ , could there?

She wanted to say ' _yes_ ', but now found that she was second-guessing herself. She swallowed, forcing herself to be rational. Hermione had said that even seven Horcruxes were already too much. Eight was inconceivable. And she trusted Hermione's judgement, even if she had ended up being proven wrong once. Daphne comforted herself with the knowledge that though Voldemort may be able to push the boundaries of the laws of magic, he could not possibly break them outright.

Somehow, she had wandered back to the vicinity of Neville's bed. By the cart of empty potion bottles on a cart next to his bed, the healers were almost finished with their job. She saw with another jolt of relief that Neville was awake, and saying something to one of the healers.

'Yes, you will have to stay here for the night,' Daphne heard the healer say as she got closer. 'The wound closed remarkably well, but we still have to monitor for any complications. After that, you will be free to go.'

Neville nodded and said something unintelligible. The healers began gathering up their things and getting ready to leave. Daphne waited until they had departed before she made her way up to his bedside.

'Hello there,' Neville said with a dry smile.

'Hello to you,' Daphne said, sitting down next to him. 'How are you?'

'Better than ever,' Neville replied happily. 'They managed to heal the gash. It hurt like mad when they poured the potions on it, but they did it.'

'That's good,' Daphne said with a small smile.

'How are you?' Neville asked. 'Are you hurt? Are you – '

Daphne shook her head. 'No. Nothing, really.' She could not help but feel more self-loathing. Again, she had been unhurt while others bled around her…

Neville's face grew dark. 'What happened, then? I remember the wound splitting open, then I was on the ground…and then I don't remember anything.'

'You…you lost consciousness,' Daphne said carefully. 'And I got you out and brought you here. You…you nearly didn't…didn't make it.'

Neville nodded. 'We…we all got away?'

Daphne swallowed. 'No,' she replied in an almost-whisper. 'Raul…Raul and the other two wizards both died. Raul…he was hurt really badly…and he took out the attackers with a rocket launcher…but he killed himself in the process…trying to save us…'

'Oh.'

The two of them looked at each other in silence for a long time. Something was going through Neville's mind that she could not quite read. His eyes seemed to reflect shock, then sadness and guilt, then there was something else.

'What about the battle?' Neville asked finally. 'Did we win?'

'I don't know,' Daphne admitted. 'When we left, the reinforcements were just coming in. The battle was really only just beginning for real, I think…' She could not continue, as she was once more overcome with a hatred of herself for her inaction.

'You're feeling guilty about leaving,' Neville observed rather astutely.

'You were injured,' Daphne tried to brush it off, not wanting to talk about it. 'I obviously couldn't just leave you to die…and…'

'Ididn'twanttoloseyou.'

Neville furrowed his brow. 'You what?'

Daphne felt her face burning. The middle of a field hospital during a massive battle was low on the list of times and places most appropriate for revealing what she felt. She briefly considered brushing the whole thing under the rug, but found no way of doing it nonchalantly. Against her own will, a small part of herself was even feeling eager to spill her heart out right then and there.

Daphne took a deep breath. 'I meant that I didn't – '

'You didn't want to lose me,' Neville finished, his face glowing pink as well. Daphne nodded. 'I heard you clearly then.'

'Yes, you did.'

Neville gulped. 'I don't, either.'

Daphne steeled her resolve. She had as good an opportunity as ever now to say what she wanted to say. _Time to be a Gryffindor and charge ahead_ , she thought. 'Look…I know this isn't really an appropriate place or time to say this, but I think that…I think that – '

'Are we more than friends?'

' – that you might be more than just a friend to me.'

'Oh.'

'Uh…'

There was a tense moment of awkward silence, during which time both blushed furiously.

'Well?' Neville finally scrounged up the courage to ask, blushing even harder. 'What…what are…are we?'

'Uh…I mean…' Daphne tried to backpedal. Maybe Neville did not want that with her after all. Maybe she had just interpreted the signs wrong. If nothing came out of this, she had to at least try to save their friendship.

'J-Just…yes or no…'

Daphne swallowed. 'Y-Yes,' she admitted reflexively, then cursed herself for being so upfront. She wanted to ask, ' _What about you?_ ', but lost her courage at the last moment.

Neville nodded nervously. 'I…I do too…uh…' he answered the unspoken question. 'I mean…uh…yes, I…uh…yeah…'

'You do?'

'That's what I said, yeah.'

Daphne felt her heart flutter, but she did not dare to believe just yet. Perhaps, a cynical part of her thought, she had misinterpreted what Neville was saying. Or, perhaps, Neville was just trying to put her down gently…

'You…you like me… _love_ , maybe?…more than a friend?' Daphne breathed.

Neville grew yet more flustered. 'Uh…I…' He sighed. 'I do love you,' he muttered. 'More than a "just friend" probably would…'

They stared at each other for an extended moment. 'What now?' Neville asked, squirming a little.

Daphne managed to chuckle through her own awkwardness. 'I think…I think we're supposed to kiss.'

Neville looked jittery and awkward, but nodded. 'Uh…okay…that makes sense.'

They leaned towards each other slowly, blushing the whole way. Finally, their lips met tentatively and gently. It was not one of those desperate, lust-filled, 'shagging' kisses. This was slow, warm, and filled with emotion. The love expressed through their joined lips filled Daphne with a sort of warm elixir, a nectar, washing away her self-loathing. As much of a failure as she may be, someone in the world still cared for her, loved her. And that was something worth fighting for.

* * *

'You are free to go,' the healer said, sounding satisfied, slipping his wand back into his pocket.

'Thank you,' Harry mumbled, getting up off the bed at once. The healer nodded, giving a wry smile, turned, and left at once.

Hermione took his hands and squeezed them tenderly. 'How're you feeling?'

Harry shrugged. 'Could be worse.'

'Harry, it's not your fault,' Hermione began. 'You heard what Daphne said earlier – '

'I know,' Harry snapped impatiently. 'I don't want to talk about it.'

Hermione looked a little hurt by Harry's sudden outburst. 'Sorry,' Harry muttered, feeling a little guilty. 'Just…not now, okay?'

Hermione nodded and squeezed his hand to tell him that all had been forgiven. They wound their way through the maze of aisles, trying to look for Neville, but they could not find him. The healers that they asked all did not seem to know, and were in fact rather annoyed that they had been interrupted from their work. Giving up, they left the tent, hoping that Daphne and Neville would find them later.

A part of Harry wanted to immediately rush back into the battle, but he knew that that might end up doing more harm than good, throwing the defenders into disarray for a negligible increase in manpower. He did not think that he should be wandering about the battlefield, either, nor was he sure whether or not they should simply return to their home.

Seeing nothing else that they could or should do, Harry and Hermione sat down on a rock ten metres or so from the tent entrance. The wind was picking up now and whistling in his ear, but Harry could still hear the distant explosions coming from the battlefield. He felt immensely guilty that all he could do was to sit here, powerless to do anything real to help Anna – who had almost become a 'big sister' friend who reminded Harry painfully of Tonks – or any of the rest of their allies.

They sat tensely for what seemed like hours. It was noon when they had first come into the medical tent, but now, it was at least mid-afternoon. Hermione kept offering Harry water, which he gladly accepted. He felt drained, whether it be from the battle, being hit by the curse that had cleansed him of Voldemort's soul, or just by life and war in general.

The shadows grew longer as the afternoon dragged on. Daphne visited them once, letting them know that Neville was fine, but implored them not to visit him, for the healers had ordered that he rest. Harry could still hear the distant explosions that signified the continuing battle, and a constant trickle of wounded soldiers came through into the medical tent. It was not until four in the afternoon that Harry finally heard a familiar voice.

' _Aus dem Weg!_ ' Anna bellowed. ' _Wir haben Verwundete!_ '

Hermione got up at once, grabbed Harry's hand, and tugged him towards the source of her voice. In front of them, they saw Anna, her wand held aloft and levitating a body. Around her, several others from her unit were doing the same. Anna's sleeves were rolled up, showing an ugly mark over her left forearm that was no doubt the result of some laceration curse that she had haphazardly healed.

Harry drew his wand and rushed forward to offer any help he could, but Anna stopped him with a look. She and the rest of her squad passed Harry silently. He could not make out the faces of those who were being levitated. He was guiltily relieved at that. He did not know how he would react to seeing the faces of more of the wounded, or possibly killed.

He desperately wanted to ask what happened. Had the battle ended? Had they won? Had they lost? They could not have lost, Harry told himself. If they had, Harry would already know. Hermione grabbed his hand and squeezed feebly, trying to give and seek comfort at once. Harry tried to return the pressure, but his reply ended up being as weak as hers.

It felt like hours before Anna finally came out of the hospital, flanked by three of her soldiers. Harry recognised one of them as Hans, the Bavarian whom Anna constantly mocked for his love of beer. The other two, Harry did not know the names of.

Harry wanted to rush to her, demand to know what had happened. Hermione must have realised this, for she stuck out an arm, blocking him from charging forward. His impatience was not warranted, however, for Anna made her way straight towards him and Hermione.

'They are in full retreat,' she said hoarsely. 'We have won…for now.'

Harry nodded solemnly. He did not know whether he should be celebrating the victory. He did not think that it was very appropriate. Nor did he feel that he was in any sort of celebratory mood. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, were dead, and yet more wounded.

'I understand,' Anna said, picking up on Harry's emotions. 'Erich is alive, the healers believe he will pull through.'

'That's…great news,' Hermione replied in a small and timid voice. 'Is everyone – ' She caught herself, realising that she was asking an inappropriate question.

Anna's face turned impassive and masklike. 'Sascha is dead. Julia is dead,' she answered in a monotone. 'Erich, as you saw, is wounded. Klaus, too, perhaps mortally.'

A lead weight fell into Harry's stomach. He knew that people had died – he had even seen the bodies – but to connect names to the dead was something more. Especially since he had come to know them – not well, but know nonetheless – in the short time that he had been here in Trier.

Anna shook his head. 'We will mourn later,' she said. 'There are still tasks to be done.'

'Aren't the enemy in retreat?' Harry asked glumly. A part of him was glad that there was something to do, yet another part of him wanted to retreat into a corner, hold Hermione in his arms, and let it all out in safety and privacy.

'What is left of the enemy,' Anna said. 'Mostly wizards and secret police. The surviving non-magical soldiers are surrendering in large numbers. They will need to be dealt with, moved to temporary prison blocs. Our non-magical troops can handle that. As for us…there is a bigger problem that we need to deal with.'

'What?' Hermione pressed.

Anna exhaled. 'The Statute of Secrecy. The non-magical troops that are not part of the combined squad need to have their memories of magic removed before we have a riot on our hands.'

'We're going to need to Obliviate every one of them?' Harry gasped, feeling an inexplicable sense of dread settle over him at the thought of the job that they now needed to do. He did not want any more of this, he now decided. All he wanted now was to cuddle Hermione until he fell asleep, her presence hopefully warding off the nightmares…

Anna shook her head. 'No, that is unnecessary, thankfully. We have a substance that when properly diluted, can selectively eliminate memories. The trouble is, we will have to direct it what memories to remove.'

'How do we do that?' Hermione asked, her instinctive inquisitiveness showing through despite the dark storm clouds above.

'With our own memories,' Anna replied. 'Memories of dark magic, combat, and the like.'

'Are you saying…it consumes _our_ memories?' Harry asked.

'I understand if you would not want to – '

'Of course I would want to!' Harry cried. 'All the memories of death, war, fighting, killing. I don't _want_ any of that!'

Anna took a deep breath. 'Eliminating memories is a temporary crutch, Harry,' she said quietly. 'It solves nothing in the long term. Two or three memories is all I ask and all I can allow you to give.'

'I don't want to live with those memories – '

'No one does,' Anna hissed. 'But removing them altogether does you a disservice. Magic is no substitute for real healing. Three memories. That is final.'

Harry glared at her, but the hard look in her eyes made him falter. He had to admit, however reluctantly, that she was right. Numbing the pain for a little while only causes more of it later, after all.

'All right, three memories,' Harry grumbled. 'Do you want them now?'

Anna shook her head and held out her hands. 'Come with me.'

Harry and Hermione each took one of her hands and she turned on the spot, disapparating. A second of discomfort later, they reappeared next to a large arch-like structure somewhat reminiscent of one of those automatic car wash machines. Hans and the other two soldiers immediately broke off and began walking around the structure, inspecting it.

Anna descended into a locked underground storage room and came back a few minutes later of a large flask of a brilliant blue liquid. It seemed to shimmer and swirl all on its own, and Harry thought that there was something hypnotising about its appearance.

'This should be enough to take care of all the non-magical soldiers and the non-magical prisoners,' Anna said, inspecting the flask. 'One litre. That is sufficient for about fifteen thousand people. Now all we need are the memories. Ten memories per litre, usually. I will give four, you each give three.'

Anna unstopped the flask and stuck her wand to her temple, screwing her face up in concentration. She extracted a long silver strand and dropped it in. The liquid glowed for a second, then went back to its original blue, though its gyrations seemed more…excited. She repeated the process three more times, and with each memory added, the liquid in the flask swirled faster.

'Your turn,' Anna said, standing up. 'Use less important memories. As long as there is combat or dark magic, it should be enough.'

Harry knelt down in front of the flask and withdrew the Elder Wand. He fought the temptation to withdraw the worst memories from his mind, instead trying to remember long-ago skirmishes as Anna had instructed. After minutes of deliberation, he finally settled on three and withdrew them, dropping them into the flask. Immediately, he found that he now only had a fuzzy recollection of the events that he had removed. Yet, the dark cloud cast by the lost memories remained. Anna was right. Removal was no substitute for healing, no help at all.

If only they _had_ time to heal. The two weeks of peace had done wonders to both him and Hermione. Yet peace could only last for so long.

But with the loss of what may be the final fragment of Voldemort's soul, they were perhaps closer to the solemn hour of victory than ever.

'Harry, are you done?' Hermione asked softly. He nodded and stood, letting Hermione take her turn. She withdrew three memories from her temple and dropped them into the flask. When the last one had been offered, the liquid began to glow, shedding its bright blue colour, instead turning a sort of blueish silver.

'It is ready,' Anna said, picking up the flask. Hermione rose and made her way back to Harry's side, burying her face in his chest.

'She was right,' she muttered, trembling a little. Harry squeezed her to stabilise her. 'Removing memories really was no help at all.'

Harry did not know what to say in response, so he simply wrapped his arms more tightly around her. He heard her sob a little, but she gently snaked her arms around his waist and returned the embrace.

The other three soldiers came back, and said a few words to Anna. She looked satisfied and nodded a few times before walking over to a sort of console with several differently-coloured knobs. She inspected it, then knelt down a few metres behind it.

She lifted open a manhole cover, dumped the contents of the flask into it, then drew her wand. A torrent of water gushed out the end, filling whatever tank or pipe was underneath. Anna did not ask for their help, so Harry continued holding Hermione, relishing in her warmth and presence.

Anna stood again and fiddled with some knobs. A motor of some sort began to run in the distance. She pressed a button on the console, and a spurt of rain came from the archlike structure. Anna smiled a little in approval.

'We are ready,' she called.

Hermione extricated herself from Harry, a beautifully curious look on her face. The two of them made their way towards Anna. She had just finished talking to the other three soldiers, who were now walking away.

'What was that?' Hermione asked.

'That is what we do to wipe the memories of thousands of people without exhausting ourselves,' Anna answered without a small chuckle. 'Hans has left to let Schumacher know that we are ready. You will see it in action in a few minutes.'

They waited in silence. Hermione found herself in Harry's arms again – not that Harry had much to complain about that. Then, up the road marched a contingent of uniformed soldiers. Harry saw the looks on their faces. Some were looking grim and sad, but others seemed shocked and awed. Harry did not need two guesses to say what these soldiers were shocked and awed _by_.

One of the officers in front broke ranks and made his way towards Anna. By the wand sticking out of his pocket, Harry knew him to be a magical.

' _Panzergrenadierbataillon Zwei_ ,' the man reported. ' _Vierhunderteinundzwanzig_.'

Anna nodded. ' _Danke. Gehen Sie durch den Bogen._ '

The officer returned to his troop and shouted several commands. At once, they began marching forward. Anna jabbed a button on the control panel and the water began flowing. The first row of soldiers looked at it with some measure of apprehension before stepping through, appearing on the other side drenched, but perfectly fine. Seeing that, the rest of the column proceeded through the 'shower'.

Harry saw that the soldiers' faces took looks of confusion for several seconds. Many of them blinked their eyes several times, as if coming to their senses. Then, their facial expressions suddenly returned to normal – as normal as they could get. Those who had looked grim still looked grim, but the looks of shock had disappeared, replaced by yet more dark countenances.

'That's it?' Hermione breathed.

'That's it,' Anna confirmed. 'Their memories have been modified.'

'They will not remember anything?' Harry asked. It was difficult to keep the tone of envy out of his voice.

'They will remember some things,' Anna replied, sounding hollow. 'Wiping memories does no good. Their memories have been selectively modified to remove the evidence of magic, but as for the rest…they will need to come to terms with it on their own. Much like how we must.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 'shower obliviator' is based off of the rain obliviation in Fantastic Beasts 1. Even if I consider Fantastic Beasts as essentially big-budget Harry Potter fanfiction, I may as well as exploit JKR's pre-existing world building for my own purposes.
> 
> Translations – all from German:
> 
> Aus dem Weg! Wir haben Verwundete! = Out of the way! There are wounded here!
> 
> Panzergrenadierbataillon Zwei. Vierhunderteinundzwanzig. = Second Panzergrenadier battalion. Four hundred twenty-one.
> 
> Danke. Gehen Sie durch den Bogen. = Thank you. Go on through the arch.


End file.
